


“I just know you’re not from Hawkins. You’re not staying for long.”

by ComfortablyAwkward



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Light Angst, Marijuana, Original Character(s), Prequel, Rough Oral Sex, cop on civilian action, whiskey and sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-28 00:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14437365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComfortablyAwkward/pseuds/ComfortablyAwkward
Summary: A chance encounter between a woman visiting Hawkins and Chief Jim Hopper; his world begins to kaleidoscope into shards of possibilities, including a chance at finally finding relief from his unfettered grief.(( This is a heavily explicit story, so please be forewarned and enjoy. ))





	1. Wake Up

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone. I'm a long time writer, first time 'poster' on a fanfiction-style website.  
> I'm extremely nervous about sharing my work and I welcome any helpful criticisms or feedback from the community.
> 
> My writing isn't perfect - far from it. I tend to not finish the things that I write because I get uninspired or bored, so I figured if I posted it up for others to see, it may give me the drive to finish pieces.
> 
> That's all for now. Thank you for reading!
> 
> (Please do not repost this work without my permission.)

      His eyes opened slowly and blinked twice, clearing the fog of last nights’ dreamless sleep from his vision. Jim’s alarm continued to blare obnoxiously on his nightstand, waiting to be slapped into silence. He turned his eyes towards clock to peer at the time; how long had the alarm been screaming at him?

It was 6:43. He dragged his arm over his body and dropped the palm of his hand on top of the clock, nearly pulling the device off the nightstand with his lazy attempt to stop the incessant chiming. It worked, at least. The room fell silent except for the sounds of the fan spinning above his head and the muffled chirps of birds outside his window.

“Christ,” he mumbled, pushing himself up into a seated position on the bed.  
He rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers up through his hair, settling with his palms on the back of his neck as he breathed in sharply. The clock mocked him with the minutes moving by quicker than his body did and Jim realized he was going to be late to the sheriff’s office, again.

 

 

      “I know. Don’t start today, Flo,” Jim protested as Flo stood up from her desk, following him from one end of the precinct to the other with notes of the calls that came in since dawn. As she read off each one, he mentally made a note to start making coffee at home; he couldn’t concentrate on anything she was saying without having the caffeine in his bloodstream already. “Just give me those and leave me alone for a while.”

Flo glared at him and kept her grip on the notes, refusing to hand them over to Jim until he made eye contact. He finally glanced up at her and realized she wasn’t going to give in easily.  
“Thank you, Flo,” he said as sincerely as his caffeine-deprived brain would let him, giving her a knowing smirk. She tended to put up with more of his shit than anyone else would and he was grateful, even if he rarely showed it. Flo mirrored his smirk and released her grip on the notes, saying something about needing new tires on one of the squad cars’ and the order form was on his desk.

Jim closed his office door, tossed the call notes on top of his desk, and plopped down into his trusty chair. Actually, he hated this chair. He tried to covertly swap it out with one of the lobby chairs, but Flo immediately scolded him for it when she took notice. Now, she’s always on the lookout for his chair-swapping antics and he’s never gone a full hour without her realizing the switch – so, it’s his trusty chair. The coffee’s temperature finally lowered to a drinkable state and Jim downed the entire cup instantly. He immediately wanted another one.

His phone rang, breaking him out of his chair-centric thoughts.

“Yes, Flo?” he tried sounding less-than-irritated this time.  
“Callahan and Powell called in to me because your radio is off. They need you to head to The Palace for a possible drug-related incident,” she responded.  
Jim sat up in his chair, his brain waking up fully, “Drug related? Anyone hurt?”  
“Nothing reported but you better get down there,” her voice crackled over the line.

 

 

     Jim shoved the gear into park directly in front of The Palace, yanking the keys from the ignition before opening the trucks’ door. The parking lot was relatively empty at this time in the morning, which made it even more obvious that the two police vehicles were at the arcade for some nefarious reason.

Powell and Callahan were surrounding a person sitting on the hood of an Oldsmobile Supreme. He couldn’t quite make out a gender of the perp until he approached the duo, both turning to him in tandem to reveal a woman. Jim sighed, taking a quick glance at her up and down to determine that she was not from Hawkins; this wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought.

He looked at Callahan first, who already started rambling off descriptors: drugs, out of town, questionable license. Powell rolled his eyes, “None of this is proven, y’know. You’re just making this up based on what she’s said to you.”

“Yeah, but look at her. She’s gonna lie about the drugs, so I might as well fill in the blanks,” Callahan responded, pushing his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose.

The woman looked less than amused, yet she snorted at Callahan’s remarks, shaking her head softly as she turned her eyes towards The Palace on her right-hand side. Jim looked at the woman as she made the sound, noting her body language – she didn’t really seem to care that she was surrounded by three police officers.

“Chief, here’s her ID.” Powell handed the card over to Jim, remarking about how the ID might be real but he couldn’t be too sure since he hasn’t seen one from Florida before.  
The ID read LYDIA TREMBLAY.

     “What kind of drugs are we talking about here?” Jim said, holding the ID with his forefinger and thumb, looking up at Powell and Callahan.

“Looks to be a large amount of marijuana, Chief,” Powell noted, pointing towards the backseat of her car. “It’s all wrapped up tight, sitting in the back.”

Jim stepped around the front of the Oldsmobile and leaned in the open driver’s side door, catching a whiff of the heavy marijuana scent that permeated the entire vehicle. There was no mistaking what that smell was. He moved back around to the front of the car, keeping his eyes on the woman the whole time.

“Alright, Miss Tremblay, I have to take you in to the station for formal questioning,” Jim said, handing the ID over to Powell. “You do realize this was a dumb mistake, bringing these drugs into my town, right?”

She said nothing; the look in her eyes was intense, almost borderline murderous. Jim stared back at her for a second before breathing in sharply and ordering Powell and Callahan to follow him back to the station with her car. The woman was placed in the back of Powell’s squad car while Callahan manned the Oldsmobile; the three took off towards the police station.

 

 

    “Alright,” Jim walked into his office and shut the door, “let’s not play games. Tell me what you were planning to do with all of that pot.”  
He sat down in his trusty chair at his desk and tossed Lydia’s ID down on top, letting it slide across a mess of papers before it stopped nearly at the opposite end of the desk. Her eyes followed the card’s movement all the way before she looked up at Jim to meet his gaze.

“If I told you I was giving it to a friend, would you believe me?” she finally spoke, her cuffed hands resting neatly on the top of her thighs.

Jim sat back in his chair, “I believe you. Which _friend_ here in Hawkins were you giving it to?”  
A smirk edged on her lips and she sighed, “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”  
“Okay,” Jim said, leaning forward in his chair and taking the phone off the receiver, “I’m going to call this an easy booking and have you officially arrested for possession of a large amount of an illegal substance.”

Lydia laughed, “Sure, typical.”

“What did you _think_ was going to happen?” he still had the phone in his hand, “That I was going to let you drive off with all those drugs in your car? You really are something.”

“I’m helping a friend. She’s very sick and needs the pot,” Lydia said, her voice very firm yet almost upset. The look on her face was that of worry, uneasiness.

Jim stared at Lydia for a few beats before putting the phone back down, “A sick friend who needs this, huh? What kind of sickness requires a massive quantity of marijuana?”

“Cancer,” Lydia said; the words barely audible as they left her lips.

Jim felt the color from his face drain as the word struck his chest, hard. Painful, inerasable images of little Sara lying in the hospital bed, with wires sticking out every which way from her tiny body, flooded his brain. It shouldn’t have affected him this way – the word _cancer_ – but it did. He stood up wordlessly and exited the office, bee-lining it for the kitchen. There, he shakily pulled out his bottle of prescription medication and popped the top off, downing two small white pills with a cup of water. As he swallowed, his eyes shut tight, trying to ignore the stinging sensation in his ribcage and sweat forming on his brow.

Jim opened his eyes and let out a heavy breath, then turned back towards his office where Lydia sat. She looked at him carefully, concern glittering in her eyes, following his movements as he shut the door and slowly stepped over to his desk chair.

“Are you okay?” Lydia said quietly, rotating her body forward to face Jim’s desk.

“You’re telling me this stuff will help with her cancer?” Jim responded, ignoring her question.

Lydia shifted her body, the metal handcuffs jingling with her movements, “It’s not going to cure it, no.”  
Jim knew that. There wasn’t a cure for any cancers as far as he knew.

“But, it will help with her symptoms… that’s what she tells me, at least,” Lydia finished.

Jim took in a deep breath and exhaled, staring at Lydia with an undiscernible expression on his face. The clock on his office wall ticked, ticked, ticked for what seemed like forever. It was eerily quiet and tense in the closed space. Lydia watched as he mutely stood up, walked around his desk and stopped directly next to her chair; his hand retrieved a keyring from his pocket and leveled one of the keys to her chin height. She stood up and brought her wrists up to the key. They locked eyes instantly.

“I’m only doing this so I can see it through myself. If you are lying to me, you’re done.”  
Jim’s voice was quiet, yet stern. Lydia nodded slowly in response, maintaining the eye contact without flinching. He unlocked the cuffs and slipped them back into its holder on his belt, slipping the keyring back into his pocket.

“You’re going to take me to your friend and prove to me that you’re telling the truth. If you can’t do that, then the cuffs go back on and you’re going away for a long time. Sound fair?” Jim stood tall, towering over the young woman, not noticing before how small her frame was compared to his.

Lydia hesitated. She chewed on her lip for a few seconds before inhaling sharply, “Yeah, that’s fair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the smutty stuff will start soon. ;) Thanks for reading this far.


	2. Drink Up

            Callahan and Powell glanced at one another in confusion at Jim’s request – he wanted the keys to Lydia’s Oldsmobile and he was letting her go, for now. Callahan protested, as usual, holding the keys hostage in his desk. Jim outstretched his arm towards Callahan, opening and closing his fingers rapidly to signal that he wanted the keys – now.

“Chief, why are you letting her go with all of that… evidence in her car?” Powell chimed in, carefully choosing his words.

“I will explain later. Give me the keys,” Jim said, stepping closer to Callahan with his palm open.

Powell nudged Callahan after a few beats, “Give him the keys, Phil.”  
Jim stared Callahan down as he retrieved the keys from his desk and plopped them into his palm, shaking his head as he closed the drawer and mumbled something about ‘this not being right’.

Lydia smirked at Callahan’s response but quickly withdrew her expression as Jim turned around to lead her out the door. They stepped outside the precinct and stopped near his truck; he handed her the Oldsmobile keys and retrieved his own from his pocket.

“Are you… going to follow me there?” Lydia asked, folding her arms across her chest.  
“No, you’re going to get that stuff from your car and we’re going to bring it to your _friend_ , together,” Jim responded, “On my terms.”

Lydia shifted her feet and almost smiled, “I’m not opposed to that; however, do you really think that stuff won’t stink up your truck? Even if we rode with the windows down, you’re going to have a hell of a time trying to explain that smell to your next visitor.”

He eyed her cautiously, thinking on her statement. It was most likely true – the last time Jim was around marijuana was in high school and it sure could stink up a school bathroom.  
Lydia pointed to her car, “You could just hop in my car. I’ll drive you there.”

Jim’s so-called sixth sense for danger perked up for a second before dying out – he had to be cautious. Although the woman seemed relatively innocent, she could just as quickly drive them into a tree and escape on foot to god knows where.  He thought about her offer for another minute before wordlessly walking over to the passenger side of the Oldsmobile. Lydia followed him, the sound of her footsteps and the jingling of keys close behind. Jim opened the passenger side door, peered inside to survey the car, then popped open the glove box – he spotted no weapons or anything that could be used as a weapon.

“Do you always travel alone?” he asked, sitting down in the car, taking in a huge whiff of the strong, earthy scent that wafted up from the backseat.

Lydia followed suit and buckled in, then started the car and readjusted the rearview mirror, “Yeah, most of the time I do.”

Jim took in Lydia’s features in full: a young woman, somewhere around late 20’s – possibly early 30’s, soft mahogany waves of hair cascading to her shoulders, light touches of makeup on her face, and a petite frame.  He now wondered if traveling alone without a weapon was a smart thing for her. She couldn’t conceivably be able to fight off an attacker with how small her body was… but then again, that was in comparison to his own heavy-set frame. She donned a Rush band tee that was one size too large for her, twisted and knotted at the bottom to taper the shirt to her frame. Jordache jeans hugged her lower body; those seemed to fit her well, he noted, softening his serious mental tone for a moment.

They passed the main town center near Mulberry Street. The sidewalks were sprinkled with the townsfolk going about their morning. None aware of the Police Chief of Hawkins riding shotgun in a car with a crazy amount of pot in the backseat – that would be a headline in the paper for a month, if anyone caught wind. The car turned left onto Jackson Street then slowed as it approached a tiny cottage house with white paint and blue trim; an American flag donned the front of the house near the porch stairs. Lydia pulled the Oldsmobile into the empty driveway, shifted the gear into park, and turned off the engine; she turned to face Jim, tossing her right elbow up near her headrest.

“Listen, I know you’re doing me a favor here, Officer—”  
“Chief,” Jim corrected her.  
“Chief,” she repeated back to him, her right hand bobbed up and down as if to wave away her mistake, “but I ask that you be… discreet about this. She doesn’t want any sort of trouble.”

Jim blinked a few times in astonishment, then turned to face her, “Discreet? You were driving around with a backseat full of drugs and you got caught. What about that is discreet for your friend?”

Her mouth creased into a thin line; her eyes searching his for any sort of response in her favor. Jim sighed and got out of the car, shutting the door behind him; he reached into his pocket and yanked out a pack of cigarettes. When he looked over the roof of the car, Lydia had already stepped out and retrieved a backpack with the offending contents from the backseat. He took a long drag on the newly lit cigarette and paced forward leisurely to survey the house and surrounding homes; it was quiet and very few vehicles remained in their respective driveways. Lydia walked up to front door and knocked on it, shifting the backpack strap on her shoulder while she waited.

 

                The front door squeaked open and a woman exclaimed happily at Lydia’s presence. Jim dropped his cigarette on the ground and smooshed it underneath his boot, stepping up the porch stairs to see the _friend_ in-question. Lydia turned her eyes over towards Jim as he approached, muttering an apology to the woman when he came into full view.  
“Oh! I know YOU.” The woman at the door was elderly, about late 70’s, thin white and gray tufts of curly hair sitting short on her scalp; she smiled brightly at Jim, as if she were his own mother.

Jim searched her features for a moment before relaxing his face, realizing exactly who she was.  
“Hi Mrs. Peterson.”

Lydia narrowed her stare at Jim, tilting her head slightly, “And… how do you know him, Aunt Sue?”

“Come inside, please! Aren’t you cold wearing that, Lyd?” the older woman remarked, walking deeper into the house.  
Lydia followed her, leaving Jim to stand in the open doorframe. He glanced around the area one more time, then went inside the house. Jim tracked the women’s voices into a dining room area that was attached to a kitchen; the older woman was gathering what sounded to be mugs and silverware from the latter.

Lydia smiled softly at Jim as he entered the dining area; he set his hat down on the end of the table near the backpack that she brought in.  
“Aunt Sue, you never said how you knew the Chief.” Lydia turned her eyes away from his and towards the kitchen where the older woman was standing.

“The Chief?” Sue said questioningly, carrying a small wooden tray into the dining area with three coffee mugs filled to the brim with steamy, dark liquid. Lydia nodded over towards Jim in response.

“Oh! Jimmy Hopper was one of my students when I taught at Hawkins High School,” Sue picked up a mug and handed it over to Lydia. “He was actually quite a bad apple in the bunch, if you know what I mean… but it seems as if you turned yourself around!”

Jim chuckled, “Yeah, what can I say. You were always trying to help me out, though, Mrs. Peterson. Sorry if I made those few years a headache for you.”

“Sue,” the older woman said as she handed Jim a mug of coffee, “please call me Sue. You brought me my medicine!”

“I got a police escort and everything,” Lydia grinned behind her mug, eyes floating up to meet Jim’s as she took a sip of coffee.  
Jim nearly spat out his sip, but played it off by blowing away the steam from the mug, “Yeah, how about that…”

                 Sue pulled out one of the wooden dining room chairs and carefully lowered herself into the seat, sucking in air between her teeth as her back hit the back of the chair; she was in pain. It was obvious. Lydia grabbed the backpack and flipped up the canvas top, yanking out a huge plastic bag filled to the top with green nuggets of marijuana. Jim’s body immediately stiffened. Sue’s eyes relaxed at the sight of the bag and a smile returned to her face.

“You really mean to give all of that to me, Lyd?” Sue asked.  
“Of course. You _need_ it. I don’t want to hear about you not eating lunch or dinner anymore, okay?” Lydia said kindly.  
She stood up from her chair and walked into the kitchen, opening a few drawers before returning with a wooden lacquered box in-hand. Lydia set it down in front of her own mug and lifted the top of the box, revealing a small glass pipe, rolling papers, and two lighters. Jim felt extremely uncomfortable again – not because he hadn’t seen this before, but because of his status in the community.

Sue noticed his distressed body language and turned her body slightly to face his, “I know this must be very strange for you, Jimmy, seeing your old teacher with these illegal things… but I have to tell you, it’s only because I need it. I have trouble eating most days and I’ll often wake up in the middle of the night in pain. Body pain from my treatments and hunger pain from all the nausea. If you need to arrest me, that’s fine, but leave Lydia out of this. She only did as I asked her to. I’m the one to blame if you have any problem with this situation.”

“I’m not going to arrest anyone,” Jim responded a moment after, setting his mug down on the table.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Sue glanced over at Lydia. “I was certain you were in trouble for bringing this to me.”

“But I am going to ask you to make sure this stuff stays here,” his finger tapped the table top, “in this house.”

Sue put her hand up, “I swear to you it will stay here.”

 

                    Jim stepped through Sue’s front door and onto the porch. He pushed the door closed behind him and drifted over towards Lydia’s Oldsmobile, pulling out his pack of cigarettes along the way. He pressed a cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply, peering around the neighborhood again. Jim realized he never ventured over to this neighborhood often, for a police reason or otherwise. It struck him that this was probably the safest area in all of Hawkins. The front door to Sue’s house opened and Lydia walked outside, turning back around to give Sue a hug through the doorframe.

“Thank you,” Lydia smiled, walking up to the Oldsmobile where Jim stood.

He pulled in a drag on his cigarette and blew out the smoke to his left, “You’re lucky, alright? I’m gonna have a hard time trying to explain this to the guys back at the station. They’re going to want a _really_ good explanation for _why_ I let you drive off with all of that in your backseat.”

Lydia smirked at him, “I’m caught up at the part where I’m _lucky_.”

Jim paused his movements, gazing at her through the milky trail of smoke billowing up from his lips. He wasn’t sure if she was being flirtatious or trying to piss him off. Lydia moved forward and was so close to him, he could smell the remnants of her perfume. Her body immediately shifted one step over and she pressed her keys into the door, unlocking it with a turn of her wrist. Jim let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I’ll take you back.”

Lydia seated herself in the car and started it just as Jim opened the passenger side door. The ride back was silent and he was grateful for that; it gave him time to think about his grand excuse for this whole ordeal. The car eventually stopped in front of the station.

“Hey, Chief. This really means a lot to me. I’m very grateful for everything you did for Sue today,” Lydia chimed over to Jim as he opened the door and stepped one foot outside.

“Don’t mention it. Seriously. I don’t want to see you around here again with anything like that,” he groaned, moving his body fully out of the car.

Jim shut the Oldsmobile door and headed towards the station. He kept his pace forward until he hit the front door and hesitated to enter. His instinct was to turn around to see which direction she was headed – to see if she was leaving Hawkins. The droning sound of the Oldsmobile decreased, then finally faded away just as Jim glanced over his shoulder. The car was already gone by the time his eyes focused on the road.

 

         The station was relatively quiet for the afternoon and Jim was more than relieved. He spent a good thirty-five minutes explaining why he let Lydia go, except it wasn’t the honest-to-god truth. Callahan accepted the story but Powell was dubious, which was quite the opposite reaction from them both that Jim was expecting. By the end of his shift, Jim knew he needed a stiff drink, or two. Or three. The overwhelming aura of doubt and deceitfulness that sat heavy in the air at the police station was almost palpable. It wasn’t long before Jim found himself cozied up with a glass of bourbon at Hideaway.

 

Raucous banter and laughter wafted around the bar in between the loud crack of cue balls at the billiard tables. The bartender pushed a fresh glass of bourbon to Jim, whisking away the empty rocks glass from the bar top.

“Hey, thanks Mick,” Jim lifted his glass at the bartender in thanks, and then pulled his cigarette out from his lips to take a generous sip. The taste was much smoother than he was used to and wondered if Mick gave Jim some of the rare, good stuff. “Mick, is this from your private collection? Didn’t think I was your type.”

“You’re not pretty enough, Hopper, but the woman that bought you that drink is,” Mick pointed down to the opposite end of the bar. Jim peered over in that direction but couldn’t see past all the patrons lined up against the bar top. He was betting it was Helen from the post office.

Jim made his way over to Helen with his drink in hand, trying to come up with some excuse as to why he didn’t call her back after she spent the night a few weeks back. She couldn’t have been upset with him, though, because she bought him a drink. Now Jim was hopeful. Except when he approached the woman, it wasn’t Helen.

“Hey Chief, you look different out of uniform,” Lydia lifted her glass at him.

Jim stared incredulously at Lydia, not sure how he should feel about this situation. Her turquoise irises flickered up and down his body, seeming to enjoy taking in the view. Or was that his imagination? His brain finally caught up with the moment and took a seat next to her at the bar.

“You’re observant,” Jim chided, sipping his glass.

“You’re welcome,” Lydia nodded to his glass as she took a sip of her own.

Jim chuckled, then sighed out heavily, “I thought I’d seen the last of you, considering you had a literal ‘ _get out of jail free card’_ handed to you this morning.” He pulled a cigarette out from the pack in his shirt pocket and reached for the box of matches sitting on top of the bar.

“Is this drink a ‘thanks’ for letting you get away with a felony?”

Lydia crossed one leg over another, turning her body towards his, “You really helped me out back there. I’d say I owe you a drink.”

“Make it two and I might not feel so guilty for lying to my friends,” Jim glanced at her just as she downed the remainder of her drink. The glass hit the bar top with a pop, garnering Mick’s attention from nearby.

Lydia made eye contact with Mick and held up two fingers, signaling for another round on her tab.

“Woah – hey – I was joking, sweetheart,” Jim looked at Mick, then back at Lydia.

“Listen, I know you put your job on the line today and it was mostly for Sue. You would have arrested me had it not been for her… situation,” Lydia trailed off as Jim broke eye contact and looked down at his glass. “So, I’m just trying to show you that I appreciate your kindness.”

“I won’t say no to a free drink,” Jim spoke through the cigarette in between his lips, casually glancing over to check Lydia out.

Her black sweater had a silver-beaded array of lines adorning one of the shoulders, catching the fluorescent lighting every time she moved her arm. The Jordache jeans made another appearance alongside some leather calf-length boots, outlining her slender figure even more. The bourbon started to seep into Jim’s stomach, warming the center of his chest.

                    “So, wanna tell me why you weren’t afraid of being surrounded by three cops earlier?” Jim leaned an elbow on the bar top and angled his body to face hers. “You didn’t even seem worried. More like, you were annoyed at having been pulled over.”

Lydia’s smile was smaller, “I was married to a man in law enforcement.”

That caught Jim’s attention. “Was?”

Her fingers danced along the side of her glass, “Yep, we were together about 5 years, then things just… fizzled out.” Lydia’s gaze was focused forward as she sipped her drink, as if she was pondering a memory from a forgotten moment.

“So, you could say I’m numb to the authoritarian impression of the police.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. This constant inability to properly react to Lydia’s statements was killing him; he usually had a good grasp on the art of retorts. Lydia pushed out a breath she seemed to be holding onto and stood up from the barstool. She reached into her pockets, yanked out some money and set it on the bar as she finished off her drink.

“So, I guess I’ll leave you be. Just wanted to say thanks, again, for everything,” Lydia started to walk away and before he knew what he was doing, Jim had taken a hold of her arm.

“You’re gonna leave, just like that? Right as I was starting to get to know you better?” Jim had already let go of her before he finished speaking and pulled back his hand to his thigh. “And to think, I thought you had a thing for me.”

Lydia blinked twice, then let out a huge cackle. Her body swung forward as her hand fell onto his shoulder and gripped it delicately with her fingertips; she almost stumbled from the unanticipated burst of laughter. “Maybe I do, Chief. Maybe I do.”

“Jim. Call me Jim,” the warmth of her hand on his shoulder sent a rush of blood through his body; an unexpected reaction from her subtle touch.

She sat back down and scooted to the edge of the barstool, her knees barely caressing his. Jim picked up his glass and offered it to Lydia as he stubbed out his nearly spent cigarette; he could feel her watching him intently. In a single motion, Lydia swiped the glass from him and took a generous mouthful of the bourbon, then set it down on the bar top.

“That was a bold move, Jim. Grabbing my arm and betting on my intent towards you,” she chided.

He leaned in closer to her, “And what exactly is your intent towards me?”

Lydia mimicked the movement and leaned even closer, her face practically touching his, “How about you finish that drink and we have another at your place?”

Jim wanted to simply take her right then and there on the bar top, but he figured Mick might not be keen to that idea. Her face was so close to his, the smell of her perfume almost masked the musk of cigarette smoke from around the bar.

“Who’s the bold one now?” Jim leaned back and finished off the rest of the bourbon in his glass.

For just a moment, Lydia seemed embarrassed at her choice of words. Jim signaled to Mick to close out his tab, then pulled out some cash and laid it on the bar top. “Let’s take my truck. In all good conscience, I can’t let you drive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go: off to the smut (next chapter!)


	3. Sober Up

        Just as Jim pulled up to his trailer, he immediately remembered the place was in an absolute state of disarray. For lack of a better term, it was a dump.

“Hey, this might sound insane but I need to leave you here for a few minutes while I go inside,” Jim unbuckled himself and jumped out of his truck, slamming the door behind him.

A few moments later, Jim came back outside and signaled for Lydia to follow him in. She made her way towards him, chuckling in the darkness along way, “I never did ask if you had a girlfriend or wife.”

He leaned on the doorframe, “I don’t.”

She approached him cautiously. The moonlight set heavy shadows on his face as the light from inside the trailer outlined his silhouette. He was a good six inches taller than she was, so her head tilted upwards as she closed the gap between them, catching a glimpse of his icy irises. Jim leaned close to her face with his own and pressed his lips against hers, immediately feeling Lydia push into him deeper. His denim jeans grew tight as they clashed mouths; Jim forced his tongue past her lips and pulled her inside of the trailer to escape the chilly outdoors. They broke away from one another to shut the door, and then Jim immediately resumed exploring her mouth.

As he pushed her small frame up against the front door, her arms circled around his neck and she jumped up to wrap her legs around his waist. Jim caught her, groaning at the heat seeping through her jeans between her thighs. They let their tongues dance about for a bit before Jim slowly released his hold on Lydia, letting her down to stand on her own. The look in her eyes was carnal; the turquoise color now overlaid with a navy tint.

“Are we taking this to your bed or are you planning to fuck me on the stove?” she breathed out between swollen lips.

He wanted to. He never had sex with someone on the stove before. Maybe in the kitchen against a counter, but never on the stove. Jim toyed with the idea for a few seconds longer and then let out a chuckle.

“I thought we were having another drink?” he said, damning himself for trying to stretch this one out. The immense pressure in his jeans was uncomfortable and painfully obvious to them both. Her fingers snaked through his belt loops and tugged him up against her body, eliciting a surprised moan from Jim’s throat. He pulled at her hips and walked backwards towards the couch, wobbling with an uncertain stride as he mentally tried to map out the distance between the door and the furniture.

“We could do that,” she said coyly, pressing her palms against his chest, “or…”  
Just as Jim felt the back of his legs hit the couch seat, Lydia pushed him; he lost his balance and panic set into his eyes momentarily before he realized he landed safely. She seemed rather pleased with his reaction, biting her lower lip with a soft giggle as he scrambled to catch himself. “I _could_ see how long it would take to drive you to the point of no return.”

Jim raised his eyebrows at the offer, “The point of no return, meaning… you want to be murdered? Because listen lady, I’m not into the whole necrophilia thing.”

Luckily, Lydia found his remarks hilarious. She spotted his off-brand whiskey bottle on a coffee table and picked it up, then tossed it his way. He wasn’t expecting that and barely caught it before it almost hit the hollow wood flooring. “Jesus, woman, what are you…”

His voice trailed off at the sight of Lydia kneeling before him. Her voice became distant as he watched her fingers climb up his knees towards his groin. She pawed at his belt; her slender digits quickly made work of his button and zipper and freed the heat prisoned by his jeans. “What’s the whiskey for?”

He almost hated himself for asking the question aloud because it stopped her in her tracks.

“Take a shot,” she demanded, her eyes looked so devilish up at his, waiting for him to comply.  
  
“I’d rather not be zonked out of my mind for this,” he mused, his pants halfway down his thighs, underwear tented.  
Lydia’s finger tips were cold, almost stinging against his hot skin near his navel as she slowly curled them around the waistband of his underwear. She leaned her head forward and breathed out heavily against his manhood through the cloth. Abruptly, she pulled her head back and looked up at him, then at the bottle.

“Take a shot.”

She basically had him at her mercy – they both knew this. Jim untwisted the top from the bottle and as soon as he tilted the bottle back, Lydia had yanked down his underwear and enveloped her lips around the tip of his cock. The liquid poured straight into the back of his throat, burning as it washed downward in his esophagus. Her lips vibrated as she chuckled with him in her mouth, listening to him gasp and gag on the spicy liquor. Lydia tilted her eyes up to see a mess of whiskey dribble out from the corners of his mouth and seep into his beard. She flattened her tongue and dipped her head lower, licking him from the base of his cock back up to the tip. Jim finally regained control of his lungs and tossed his head backwards as the sensation of her hot mouth engulfed him completely. She wasn’t taking him fully, though, and he wasn’t about to miss out on that. He threaded his fingers through her mahogany waves and steadied her head, forcing her face downwards as she slid him deeper into her throat.

They matched moans, Lydia’s more of a scream – she didn’t stop him, though. He felt himself rhythmically popping his hips upwards to match her head bobs, grinding the head of his cock into the slick, moist folds of her throat. Jim felt her salvia pooling around the base of his member, tickling his scrotum as it slid downwards in tiny streams. He watched as this woman he just barely met 12 hours prior, engulf his entire cock in one swift motion. Jim knew this would get him off within minutes if he wanted her to continue. He released his hold on her head and lifted Lydia’s chin upwards to look at him; her eyes met his as she slowly brought her mouth back up to the tip.

Lydia’s eyes were wet as tears streamed down her face, her lips continued to pop the tip of his cock in and out of her mouth. He choked her good and plenty, he thought to himself.

“Stand up,” he ordered.

Lydia released him from her mouth and sat back on her heels, wiping off the saliva off her chin. She carefully stood up, wobbling from the mix of liquor and numb lower legs from sitting too long. He wrapped his hand around his cock and continued to stroke it, watching her stand there in the dimly lit room.

“Take off those jeans.”

She obliged in silence and slipped them down her body, yanking them carefully off each leg as to not fall over on her face… which she almost did, twice. Lydia stood before him in a sweater and panties, her eyes doe-like and curious. She pulled her sweater over her head and tossed it to the floor, revealing a matching black bra with a lace trim.

“Cute. Take those off, too,” Jim leaned back and widened his seated position, taking in every inch of Lydia’s body as she peeled off her undergarments.

“Do you enjoy watching girls do as you say?” she quipped, tossing her lacy panties in his direction.

“Yeah, I do. Come sit on my lap and let me show you what else I enjoy,” he retorted.

                    Softly stepping towards Jim, Lydia unhooked and slid her bra off her arms, letting it hit the cold wood floor beneath her feet. The yellow-tinted light from the kitchen casted strange shadows across Lydia’s body, shifting about as she moved. Jim’s hand continued to slide along his cock as she approached him, chuckling softly as she abided by his wishes. Her slender hourglass figure flared out at her hips; he couldn’t stop from reaching out and holding them as she straddled him on the couch. Their eyes met right as she poised her entrance over his cock, “Is this where you want me?”

Lydia tilted her head down and forced her lips against his, her hands pulling his jaw insistently to her face. Jim slid a hand down her inner thigh and slowly back up, his fingers finding her moist, slick opening. She pressed deeper into his mouth as her hips dipped down to his hand, forcing his digits inside of her. He didn’t go far in before pulling his fingers down to his cock, moistening the head with her juices.

“You’re so wet,” Jim ran his lips against her neck, vibrating against her skin, “tell me what got you so good and ready.”

Lydia looked down between their bodies and rested her eyes on his cock, “You.”

She tried sitting down, but he tutted her, “Not yet sweetheart. What about me?”

“You’re really going to drag this out? Right when we get to the good part?” she chided, her hands resting on the wall behind him, his face trapped against her breasts.

“The faster you talk, the faster we fuck,” Jim said muffled into her bosom, pressing his tongue against her skin; she tasted faintly like perfume mixed with sweat.

She groaned in protest, pulling back from the wall to rest her hands on his shoulders. He almost couldn’t wait for her response; smooth, pale skin paired with dark tresses was his weakness. Jim felt his cock twitch beneath the heat emanating from between her thighs, warning him that it needed a release – fast.

“I liked it when you forced me to deepthroat your cock,” she said in a whispery tone, gone the confidence she had a few minutes ago. “I liked it when you told me to undress and you watched. I like that you’re indulging me, after everything today.”

Jim pulled her hips downward over his cock that stood straight at attention in response to her confession. He didn’t think she’d be honest. He didn’t know her at all, but for now, that didn’t matter. Lydia lowered herself and allowed her body to engulf his entire cock, slowly. Once she hit the base, Jim spat out a breath he choked back initially, yanking her hips back upwards and forcefully down again.

“Fuck,” Jim moaned, feeling his cock enveloped inside her velvety pussy, being squeezed tighter and tighter with each bounce. Lydia had leaned back slightly, pulling his cock at a stressed angle as she rode him; her fingers started to dig into his shoulders, nails pressing sharply into his skin. Jim felt a white-hot flash of heat stab at the base of his spine, knowing he was about to release. He swiftly wrapped his arm around her waist and yanked her towards the couch, switching their positions; she yelped as he pulled her hips towards his body and tossed her legs up into the air.

He immediately buried his cock back inside of her, hammering her as he held her legs up and pushed her knees into her chest. She finally started to look like she was about to cum, too.  
“Jim, oh fuck,” she screamed, her juices sputtering onto his thighs with every shove back inside her. He lifted one of her legs higher and angled his hips so he was completely immersed in her body; her eyes widened and her mouth was left agape at the adjustment.

“I’m gonna cum,” Jim moaned breathlessly, shuttering seconds after the words escaped his lips. His eyes fluttered and his vision turned blurry, covered in white static and dark spots. Jim collapsed on top of Lydia – all 230 pounds of him, practically deadweight. He felt his dick twitch and slowly deflate inside of her, both of their fluids covering one another as they laid tangled in the dark.

Once his body caught up with his brain, he sat up off Lydia, who seemed extremely relieved to be released from his hold. He rolled over into a seated position and relaxed into the corner of the couch, slowly feeling his eyes become heavy. Jim fought to stay awake, but finally gave in to his body’s demands and passed out. Hours passed before he opened his eyes again, the morning sunrise stinging as the light passed through the slatted blinds. The room was cold and Jim realized he was naked, covered in a sticky mess, and Lydia was nowhere in sight. His eyes found the clock on the wall near the stove, reminding him the day had already started without him.

 

 

        It was about 20 minutes into his morning before he remembered it was his day off. _Thank fuck_ , he thought. Jim felt an uncomfortable mix of exhaustion and pain – his body wasn’t okay with the excessive workout coupled with the liquor, and it let him know. He spent the next hour cleaning the kitchen and living room, noting he’d need to buy some sort of fabric cleaner for the couch. The thought of Lydia sprang to his mind every few minutes or so, wondering why she took off without saying anything. He normally didn’t think about the woman after a hookup, but Lydia’s words kept repeating in his mind.

_“I liked it when you forced me to deepthroat your cock.”_

That string of words was new to him – no other woman had been so lustfully straightforward about what made her feel the way she did. Maybe it was the whiskey speaking for her and that’s why she kept trying to get him to drink more. Jim suspiciously eyed the whiskey bottle near the foot of the couch. The thought of it made him queasy; his stomach gurgled out a burp. A few seconds later and Jim stomped out the front door, tossing his head over the edge of the wooden railings of his porch. The nausea rode him like waves, coming in and out, before finally dissipating. Sweat had formed across his forehead and chest, chilling his skin as a light breeze passed nearby. Jim looked up at the sound of a door slamming.

“You look terrible,” Lydia’s voice rang out.

Jim squinted against the sun, shielding his eyes with his hand as he watched her approach from the parked Oldsmobile. She stepped up the wooden stairs, carrying two paper coffee cups and a backpack slung over her shoulder. Jim lowered his hand and stared at her, confused and relieved at the same time.

“Do you want me to let you be?” she said quietly to his silence, looking a bit dejected.

“How… did you get your car back?” Jim responded, clearing his throat.

Lydia extended a coffee cup towards him, taking a sip of the other one; a smile spread across her lips from behind the lid.

“I took a sobering walk back to the bar and got it, along with the coffee,” she motioned to his front door, “Is it okay to go inside? It’s cold out here.”

Jim took the cup, “Yeah, of course.”

Once inside, Jim realized what she had done. “Wait, you _walked_ back to the bar? That’s over 6 miles from here, Lydia. Are you insane?”

“Mm,” she finished her sip, “I walked about half of that and someone gave me a ride the rest of the way.”

Jim furrowed his brow, rubbing his forehead in thought. He took in a deep breath before speaking.  
“You walked along the road in the dead of night to get back to your car… and hitchhiked the rest of the way,” he stared at her, his head pounding, “And you thought it was perfectly safe?”

“No,” she replied. “I didn’t think that at all, Jim.”

The sound of his name softened the crease in his brow. She set her coffee cup down on the kitchen counter and locked eyes with his, “I wasn’t sure if you would be okay with me staying the night. We didn’t discuss it and I didn’t want to assume. But, I felt like if I left without saying anything, you’d think I was trying to fuck and run.”

Jim didn’t like it, still. “There’s so much about you I don’t know, Lydia. This doesn’t still well with me, honestly.”

Lydia went quiet. She looked ashamed, almost sad. She gathered her backpack and made her way to the door, “Listen, you don’t know me and I don’t know you. I let myself get carried away last night and I came to see the damage. I can see I definitely did just that, so how about we call it a truce and I’ll leave you be.”

“Wait,” Jim said, his voice monotonous. His eyes were closed in thought, one hand resting on the doorframe and the other rubbing his forehead vigorously. “You don’t need to leave. I’m still kind of foggy from last night, alright?”

Lydia stood about half a foot from Jim, “Alright.”

He opened his eyes and glanced at her, realizing she had changed her clothes, too. The black sweater was replaced with a washed out Pink Floyd shirt; a cozy, blue jean jacket wrapped around her shoulders and the infamous Jordache jeans snuggled against her hips again. He wondered if it was the same pair from yesterday. Lydia’s youthful face caught him off guard – she looked even younger wearing the band tee, as opposed to the sweater ensemble from last night.

He approached her and pressed his lips against hers, tasting the bitter coffee on her tongue. Her body seemed to melt against his touch, reigniting the moment from hours before. Her teeth lightly bit down on his lip as she pulled back from his mouth, pushing back with her lips to kiss him once again before stepping away.

“You really are something,” Jim praised, adjusting himself through his pocket.

Lydia smiled knowingly at him, then turned around and retrieved her coffee cup. “So, did you have fun last night?”

“Did you?” Jim responded in question.

“Yeah, I did,” her smile made her cheeks pop upwards high enough to make her eyes squint. She had the look of a child on Christmas morning. “What are you up to tonight?”

Jim was taken back. Not only did she seem eager to please, but excited at the prospect of them fucking again. He covertly pinched himself on the arm to see if he was dreaming; the pain response told him he wasn’t. He cleared his throat and took a sip from the coffee Lydia brought him, looking at her as he swallowed the comfortingly warm liquid.

“Depends. How old are you, Lydia?” Jim finally asked.

Lydia laughed a little too hard, tears formed near the corners of her eyes. When she could speak, she sputtered out, “I can’t believe you didn’t take note of my birthdate on my ID. What kind of cop are you?”

“Hey now, don’t get cocky,” Jim warned. “I was more concerned about the pot you had.”

“Okay, okay,” she giggled, “I’m 29. I take it you’re about… 41? 42?”

“And that doesn’t bother you,” Jim stated. There was no question at this point – she had made him fully aware that she was attracted to him.

“Not at all. Does my age bother you? Be honest.” Lydia didn’t look scared of his reply. More intrigue than worry. “Because you asking how old I am leads me to believe that you DO have an issue with it.”

“You look a lot younger than you are. That’s all,” Jim set his cup down. “So, tonight… let’s meet back here around nine.”

“Looking forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided early on that Lydia would refer to Hopper as "Jim", because she's not from around Hawkins; I kind of feel as if it's a perk of living in Hawkins - getting to call Jim solely by his last name.
> 
> Also, I didn't want to make this a "daddy" relationship. In my view of the Stranger Things story, the character Jim Hopper wouldn't want to be called 'daddy' by anyone other than his deceased daughter. That word would hold a very special place in his heart for Sara alone.


	4. Stay Up

      Dating wasn’t something Jim was used to. His last real date was before he married his now ex-wife, Diane. It’s not that he considered having sex with Lydia as dating, but for some odd reason, he felt compelled to put his best foot forward. Jim made his trailer look close to showroom ready as he possibly could – the couch was almost dry from the scrubbing he gave it earlier, too. Lydia arrived a little past nine, carrying two canvas bags full of things.

“What’s in the bags?” Jim questioned as she approached him at the door.

“A little of this and that.”

Lydia stepped inside and set the bags down on the coffee table, “Wow, good job in here. I almost didn’t recognize the place.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Jim scolded, smirking as he spoke, “I just wanted to have the lights on this time around and knew you’d run if you saw the mold climbing out of the floorboards.”

“Ooh, the lights on,” her voice was sing-song now, “you really ARE into watching women do what you say.”

Jim held out a glass of champagne to her. Lydia eyed the glass cautiously, taking it from his grasp to observe it within her own. “Champagne?”

“It’s the only thing I know aside from whiskey, and I’m not feeling the whiskey tonight,” Jim shrugged, taking a sip from his glass. It wasn’t a champagne flute, but rather a wine glass he found while cleaning out the cabinets earlier. “It didn’t sit so well with me this morning.”

“You looked pretty terrible, I’ll admit to that,” Lydia tilted the glass in his direction, then took a sip. The bubbles popped against her lips and made her nose twitch. “But this is actually decent champagne. I’m impressed.”

Jim leaned on the kitchen countertop, topping off his and her glass, “When was the last time you enjoyed champagne, Lydia?”

“We’re gonna start there, huh?” Lydia sucked in a bit of air between her teeth, making a hissing sound as she sat on the kitchen stool. “Probably my wedding, five years ago.”

“Bad memories from the wedding day?” Jim poked.

“Not that day, no. After that, you could say the bad started to outweigh the good by a large amount,” she took a large sip and set the glass down. Lydia walked over and picked up one of the canvas bags she brought in, retrieving a paper bag from a local restaurant. “But I think this right here outweighs all the evil in the world.”

“Food from Giordanno’s? You kidding me? This food would stop wars if it could reach the other side of the world,” Jim’s eyes lit up at the sight of the bag.

     

      Lydia and Jim split a meatball sub and sipped champagne, chatting about their lives from before they were married. He learned that Lydia’s family owned a successful book store in Florida, while her brother started his own music store in Indiana; it was only a mere 3 hours away from Hawkins. Lydia managed to comfort him through his retelling of the birth and loss of his daughter, Sara, and the inevitable divorce from Diane. Jim felt the urge to cut the night short, take his prescription meds, and pass out on the couch… but Lydia somehow pushed him past that feeling. Maybe he was getting better, finally.

“My buddy Benny has this great burger place just up the road from here,” Jim tipped the remaining contents of the champagne bottle into Lydia’s glass, “Have you stopped there yet? Actually – how’d you know about Giordanno’s?”

“My aunt told me about it. Said if I stopped into Giordanno’s and asked for Lou, they’d give me the best damn meatball sub known to mankind,” Lydia crumbled up the tinfoil from her half of the sandwich and tossed it at Jim. “What can I say? I’m convinced I missed out by not being Italian.”

Jim laughed heartily at her remark, nodding in response as he tapped his glass against hers. They sipped the champagne in silence for a moment, both maintaining eye contact throughout.

“Hey,” Jim started softly, “Why’d you get me to drink so much last night?”

Lydia was about to take another sip, but opted against it in the moment. She cleared her throat, “I just wanted to buy you a drink and see where the night lead. That’s all.”

“I mean, here. You practically forced me to take a shot… and not that I’m against doing it, but I wanted to know why it meant that much for you to get me to drink,” Jim finished.

Lydia drew her lips into a thin line, pushed them out into a pout, then licked them. She seemed to be concocting a proper response, not being certain of one prior. “Well… here goes.”

“I wanted you to get rough with me. When I thanked you for indulging me, I don’t think you realized what I had meant,” her cheeks were slightly flushed with a pink hue as she spoke. “If I can be honest…”

“Yes, please,” Jim blurted out.

“My now-ex-husband wasn’t so good with anything outside of regular sex. The usual missionary, sometimes blowjobs, _maybe_ from behind every once in a blue moon… he didn’t _get_ creative and wouldn’t let us _be_ creative. I told him what I liked and he didn’t indulge – he said he was scared if he got too rough with me, I could get him fired.” Lydia rolled her eyes at her own remark. She finally took her long-awaited sip of the champagne, setting the glass down with a thunk. “What he was _really_ trying to say, I think, was that he didn’t enjoy the idea of his wife wanting to be degraded.”

Jim raised his eyebrows at the comment. She continued.

“Degradation wasn’t a sexy trigger for him. He wasn’t the type to go on a power trip on his perps, y’know, yelling commands at them when they were caught. He was very calm, by-the-book strict while on the job and didn’t take it home with him. The whole mental state was a mess for our marriage.”

She reached deep into the canvas bag next to her and pulled out a small, rectangular metal tin box. The scent of rich tobacco filled the area as she popped off the top, revealing a set of thick cigars. Lydia handed him the box and took his empty glass in trade. “So, I got you to drink so I could get you to play with me. You seemed like you were kind of tightly laced until the second drink hit you fully… so I assumed one more shot would get you to exactly where I wanted you.”

Jim had taken one of the cigars out and observed it, smelling it thoughtfully, “And here I was, thinking I was a little too rough on you. Guess not.”

“Guess not,” Lydia shrugged back, her smile widening. “What do you think of those? Lou gave them to me to gift to my boyfriend.”

“Your what?” Jim felt his chest tighten suddenly.

“He said to me ‘If you’re only ordering one sub to share with a guy, he’s gotta be your boyfriend. Give him these and tell ‘em Lou will break his legs if he breaks your heart.’ So, I guess if you accept those, you better not break my heart,” Lydia pretended that the cigars were hazardous, giving Jim an awkward grimace.

He blinked twice, then breathed out heavily, his chest loosening as relief washed over him. “Oh, so these are kind of like a Catch-22, huh? If I accept these, then that means I can’t break your heart… but if I don’t accept these, then you’ll think I’m an asshole who only wants to see you naked with no strings attached.”

She patted the top of his hand reassuringly, “These are definitely no strings attached cigars. Don’t look so serious.”

     As Lydia started to withdraw her hand, Jim reached out and grabbed ahold of her wrist. She locked eyes with his and held her breath, feeling his pull on her wrist as if he was guiding her towards him. Her footsteps were the only sound in that kitchen as she stepped around the small countertop; the silence meant he was holding his breath, too. Jim didn’t release his grip on her wrist as she approached him, instead pulling her arm up and over his right shoulder. He loosened the grip and slid his hand down Lydia’s arm to her shoulder, then slowly crept his way down the side of her body, resting firming on her hip.

By the time his hand reached her hip, they were already crashing lips into one another; Lydia moved her other arm up to wrap around the back of Jim’s neck. He slid his body downwards and hoisted her up, betting on the fact that she was going to hold on to him. Lydia let out a surprised sigh into his mouth as he immediately reattached his lips to hers, snaking his tongue between them. She lightly bit down on his lower lip and pulled her teeth back, tugging as she retreated, feeling herself being walked backwards in the kitchen. He set her down on top of the stove and slid his mouth down to her neck, pressing needy kisses into her flesh.

Lydia stifled a noticeably lusty moan, her throat vibrating against Jim’s lips as he continued downward.

“Jim,” she breathed out.

Lydia reached down to the hem of her shirt and yanked it up and over her head. Jim eyed the bra and noticed it was the same one from last night, not that it mattered. He pressed up against Lydia in between her thighs, yanking her face up to meet his, trapping her tongue in his mouth. They grinded against one another as their mouths stayed glued for what felt like minutes; Jim had started to make work of their pants.

“Do you remember what you asked me last night? Before we hit the couch?”

He watched Lydia’s face as she tried to think about it, then an affectionate smile spread across her lips a moment later.

“I asked if you were planning to fuck me on the stove or the bed,” she laughed as she pulled her jeans down her thighs to meet her knees. “Is this what’s happening?”

“Yes, I’ve never done it on a stove before. Figured you’d be game,” Jim leaned in and captured her lips again, then pulled his jeans and underwear down in one motion.

Lydia’s hands found her way to his aching, erect penis and she immediately began to jerk him slowly. This caught him off guard, so he quickly broke the kiss and backed up slightly; Lydia looked incredulous, but her face quickly reverted as she watched him yank her panties down her thighs. He pulled her hips to the edge of the stove and tilted her back a bit; she reached out to pull him into a kiss. Each of his hands captured her wrists and pulled them above her head, pinning them above on the wall behind her. He pressed into her wrists with one of his hands as the other grabbed his throbbing penis and navigated it to her center.

She gasped as she felt him tease her entrance, his eyes locked with hers, their faces not touching as much as she wanted them to. His voice was quiet but commanding.

“Tell me you want this,” he pressed his tip into her slightly, then backed up, “tell me you want me to fuck you.”

Lydia squirmed beneath him, unable to move as he teased her below, refusing to kiss her until she spoke. She tried pulling her arms down, but his grip increased on her wrists, pressed them hard into the wall. A yelp escaped her lips as the pain shot down her arms, grimacing in Jim’s direction; he didn’t let up. Seconds later, Lydia smiled and bit her lower lip, eyeing him playfully from her pinned position.

“I want you to fuck me,” she said.

He leaned in to her face, pressing hard again on her wrists, “You want me to fuck you, what?”

She whispered against his lips, “I want you to fuck me, please.”

“Good.” Jim pressed his erection into her, eliciting a moan from Lydia that was louder than expected. He pulled his face back and watched as he slammed himself into her, over and over. Jim returned his arm back up to take hold of her wrist, giving himself an anchor to press deeper inside of her. Lydia looked like she was enjoying herself, the corners of her mouth turned up as she moaned in rhythm with his thrusts. She whispered the phrase so softly, he almost didn’t hear it, and would have missed it had he not been staring at her face.

“Choke me.”

Jim slowed his thrust to almost a near stop, his grip on her wrists loosened. “What?”

“I want to try it…” a shine of curiosity glistened in her eyes; Lydia watched as the corner of his mouth twitched.

He slid his left arm down hers, his right hand capturing her wrist again as he leaned in close to her face. Lydia closed her eyes as Jim spread his palm across her neck, then opened them just as he tightened his grip on her wrists. “Choke me, what?”

“Please. Choke me, please,” Lydia’s voice was barely there, but he heard it.

The twitch of his lip turned into a full smirk, “You gotta do better than that. Beg for it, Lydia.”

“Jim, I need you to choke me as you’re fucking me – please, now,” Lydia spoke each word deliberately and audibly. Her eyes looked ravenous and unhinged, as if he unlocked something feral inside of her.

                    The sudden thrust back inside her body made Lydia scream. Her voice was cut off by Jim forcing his tongue into her mouth; each of his plunges back inside of her more aggressive than the next. The hand around her neck slowly tightened in rhythm to the movement of his hips. He could feel her wrapping tighter around his cock, her muffled screams escaping her throat as he pounded her relentlessly into the stovetop. He let go of her wrists and used that hand to pull Lydia’s hips closer to his, her back now almost flat against the burners. Lydia lifted her knees up and wrapped her lower legs around his waist, watching his face as he grunted at the suddenly availability of her depths.

“I’m…” Jim’s voice trailed off as he shut his eyes tight, trying to stop himself from going so fast.

“Please cum,” Lydia squeaked out, her neck clutched by his hand, “I want you to. Please.”

Jim opened his eyes and continued his rhythm, staring directly into Lydia’s as if he was searching for her true intent. His vision sparked white, the grip on her neck loosened, and Jim sputtered hard inside of Lydia; he felt her somehow reach up and kiss him, then hold onto him as he nearly crashed down on top of her. The only sound he could hear was the whooshing of blood passing through his head, his ears ringing obnoxiously, and his breath trying to catch up with him. Lydia lay compliant below him, her back digging into the coils on the stove; Jim felt the walls of her vagina pulsate as he began to shrink. Once his vision started to clear, he got up off Lydia and helped lift her into a sitting position.

“You really, really are quite something,” Jim knew he said something like this earlier that morning, but he damn well meant it. “I haven’t gotten off like that since I was a teenager.”

“That was truly the sexiest thing I’ve ever done,” she breathed out, “and I got to keep my bra on, too.”

They both laughed.

“So, how about a shower before we go again?” Jim asked confidently, picking up their discarded clothing from the floor. He leaned over and caught Lydia’s lips in a quick kiss before turning around to put their pile on the coffee table.

“Again?” Lydia leaned an arm on the countertop, her voice sounding more excited than surprised.

Jim turned towards her, stepping into his underwear as he spoke, “Yeah, I thought we could get cleaned up, drink a beer, then take the party to my bed.”

Lydia let out a chuckle, “Shower, beer, sex?”

“Then sleep.” Jim looked at her directly as he spoke, hoping she took the obvious hint that he hoped she’d stay the night. A bright pink hue spread across her cheeks as she smiled, a feeling of youthful excitement bubbled up in her chest at his offer. She accepted.

 

 

      They both sat patient waiting for one another to shower. It was decided it would be best to do so separately, considering the insane passion they were currently brewing boiled every time they were near one another. The water faucet squeaked as Lydia turned the knob into the off position, pricking up Jim’s ears from the other side of the door.

“We should have a safe word.” He could hear her say from the other side of the bathroom door.

“For what?” Jim mumbled through the cigarette that rested between his lips.

The bathroom door opened and Lydia emerged wearing one of his shirts; it looked comically oversized on her frame. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her.

“So, if one of us becomes uncomfortable with the moment, we know to immediately stop,” she placed her knees on top of the mattress and crawled towards him, stopping beside his body. “If you think we’re going to go any crazier than we already have, that is.”

“What word do you want to use?” Jim shoved his cigarette into the ashtray beside the bed, squishing the lit end into glass dish until it snuffed out. “This is all about you, babydoll. I’m just along for the ride.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lydia sat on top of her folded legs, a look of confusion washed across her face. “I thought you were enjoying this as much as I was.”

“I am,” he leaned back on one elbow and turned his body to face hers, “I just know you’re not from Hawkins. You’re not staying for long.” His fingertips danced along the length of her bare thigh as he let his eyes trail slowly up her body to meet her gaze. A dim smile was painted on her lips – Jim immediately felt his chest sink as her eyes averted his.

A sigh escaped her lips as she stood up from the bed and walked out of the room. He listened to her fumble around in the living room before calling out to her. She shouted back that she was stepping outside for a minute, then he heard the front door open and close. Jim followed closely after, wrapping a flannel jacket over his torso before stepping outside. Lydia peered over her shoulder at him as she leaned on the wooden railing of the porch, a lit joint in between her fingers; he could smell the scent of pot as soon as he opened the front door. Lydia looked back over the railing and blew a heavy cloud of smoke into the sky, shivering.

“Sorry, I know this isn’t your thing,” she waved the joint around in reference, “but I kinda needed to take a second. I’ll get out of here in a few.”

Jim stared at Lydia, standing outside in freezing temperatures wearing nothing but thin panties and his shirt; he chuckled. “Fine.”

Lydia felt the joint between her fingertips suddenly get yanked away; she immediately reached out for it, but stopped when she saw Jim pull it to his lips and take a huge drag. Her hand was frozen, mid-air, staring at him as he continued to puff on the joint.

He held in the smoke, strangling out his next few words, “I don’t want you to leave, but if you have to…” the smoke choked out from his throat, cutting off his sentence. He felt Lydia pull the joint from his fingers as he continued to cough, his hands ushering her to go back inside. She obliged.

When he finally made it back to the bedroom, Lydia had sprawled out on the bed with the joint nestled in her between her fingers.

“Y’know, I’m not sure what to make of you yet,” Jim started, watching her sit up as he spoke.  
He joined her on the bed and mimicked her position, reaching for the remaining end of the joint as he continued. “I’m definitely having a good time, though.”

“Me too,” Lydia let out a relaxed chuckle, smiling as she faced him. “Hey, sorry about jumping up to go out and smoke alone… I didn’t mean to disrespect you by bringing this stuff here.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m clearly not following my own rules, right?” Jim passed her the nearly finished joint, then reached towards the nightstand for his beer and took a sip.

“I’m extremely surprised, to be honest,” she sighed out, her lips turned up at the corners. “That was another bold move for you, Jim. You’re racking them up.”

He set his beer down on the nightstand, then turned towards her, “Here’s another one. Your safe word is elephant. Drop to the floor, on your knees, over here – now.”

His voice was firm, insistent, unforgiving. Lydia blinked a few times before slowly crawling across the bed, then dropped her knees onto the cold wood flooring below. Jim seemed to have a mask of seriousness placed over his face, an underlying sense of calm and collectedness was seated in his posture. The look on her face was perfect; she knew what she was getting into, but didn’t want to seem too eager.

      “What should I do with you?” Jim pondered aloud, his hand slowly making its way down his underwear, stroking the length as he watched her. “How about… I fuck you from behind while making you watch in the mirror.”

Lydia shifted her hips about as she noticed the tall, 2 ft. wide mirror standing against the wall near the side of the bed. “Yes, please.”

“Seriously, this one is going to be intense.” Jim warned her, noticing a gleam in her eye as he spoke the words. “So, let’s open your palate.”

He stood up from the bed and dropped his underwear to the floor, standing above Lydia with a smirk on his face. She sat up off her legs and raised to rest on her knees, her mouth immediately opening to take him in. The look on her face was fervent as she wrapped her lips around his erection, swirling her tongue in circles on the head. Jim let out a satisfied moan, then reached for his beer on the nightstand, taking a huge sip as his hand guided her head forward.

“You’re such a good girl,” he said quietly, feeling his cock being practically swallowed whole, watching it disappear behind her lips.

She responded favorably by sucking hard with her mouth, groaning shamelessly in satisfaction as she slid her lips back and forth across his skin. His hands glided through her hair, wrapping within the strands, grasping handfuls abruptly while yanking her face closer to his torso. A squeal escaped her throat as he shoved himself completely into the depths of her esophagus; a chuckle emanated from his chest, feeling her lips sputter around his base. She yanked her face backwards, bypassing his grip, gasping for air away from his touch. The sudden disappearance of the warmth from her mouth sparked his need; he reached back for her head and yanked her mouth to his erection.

     A single, glassy tear drop fell from her right eye. He almost wouldn’t have seen it if not for the light from the lamp on the bedside table. Lydia’s stare was locked into his, her jaw squeezed tight by his right hand, the left hand keeping ahold of the back of her head. A heavy splash of saliva escaped the sides of Lydia’s mouth, dripping in shiny streams down to her chin. Jim moaned at the sight beneath his navel, loosening his hold on her face to allow her to catch her breath.

Lydia retrieved her head backwards, sputtering out, “Yes, please, I’ll always be your good girl.”

She reached for his bobbing erection, her eyelashes dropping heavy wet tears onto her cheeks as she pulled him to her mouth, her hand wrapped around the girth. Jim nestled his hands under her armpits and yanked her upwards, forcing her to stand before him. She jumped upwards, falling forwards onto his chest, catching herself by gripping his shoulders tightly with a yelp. The corners of his lips twitched as he grasped ahold of Lydia while she collapsed upwards into his hold, a smile spreading softly across the line of his mouth.

His thumbs reached up to wipe away the moisture trails from near her eyes, fingertips pulling her face towards his, demanding their mouths lock together. Lydia cried out as he sucked her tongue into his mouth too suddenly, her teeth biting down in protest, sending a sudden shock of pain to Jim’s jaw.

Without warning, his right hand came up to grasp the side of her jaw, pulling her chin back to his face with an iron grip. Another painful whimper escaped her throat as she finally broke away from his grip, her hands covered his, yanking his wrist down and away from her face.

They both stared at one another for what seemed like a minute, catching their breaths; her face looked as if someone had told her that her mother died. Jim saw past the tears and reddened cheeks to reveal a woman that suddenly had realized her sexual potential; for whatever reason, this moment told her she needed the guidance that he had to offer. It wasn’t a stable, continual relationship for either of them, and somehow, that idea was unspoken but understood. Lydia’s gaze voiced novels about her thoughts in an instant, their minds grasping the situation entirely without words having been exchanged. Jim almost felt scared to comply to the moment, then relaxed as she placed her lips upon his reassuringly.

     “You’ve been such a good girl tonight. You deserve your treat,” Jim whispered into her mouth as she withdrew from the kiss, her smile so sensual and excited for what was to come. “Take off the shirt and panties, then get on all fours in front of the mirror.”

Lydia chirped excitedly as she unbuttoned the shirt resting on her torso, slowly exposing her soft, pale skin to Jim. Her arms leaned backwards and the shirt glided downwards, falling into a bunch behind her hips on the bed. The soft, strawberry blonde hued nipples that sat upon her breasts perked forward in reaction to the tingly cool air, calling attention to them immediately. Lydia kept her eyes locked onto his as she slowly removed her panties, tossing them as she assumed her assigned position on the bed. Jim placed his hands on her ass cheeks, squeezed them in appreciation, then drew back his right hand and smacked her flesh playfully. Her throat let out a moan of approval as his hand grazed her skin sharply – once, twice, three times – each time harder and harder in force.

“Such a good girl,” a gruff moan leaked from his mouth as he paddled her, watching her buck and toss forward with every strike.  
His hand slid up her back rested into her hair, pressing her face downward into the bedspread, angling her backside upwards to meet his greedy palms. They gripped and squeezed her ass cheeks relentlessly, his thumbs gliding over her damp entrance as he trailed his hands up and down her tight curves. The pads on his thumbs pulled and hoisted open Lydia’s entrance, which was immediately intruded by his aching cock, pressing slowly into her core. The mirror showed her mouth lay agape as he wrapped a hand around her neck and tangled his fingers into her hair, pulling backwards as his hips grinded into her soaked center.

“Jim, oh,” she managed to choke out. “Fuck.”

His rhythm sped up in reply, increasing the strength of the hold he had on Lydia; the head of his cock smashed over and over into her cervix, eliciting a strangled scream from the depths of her esophagus. Her whine hushed into a muffled cry as his hand glided up from her neck to her mouth, the grip of his fingertips nesting into the flesh of her cheeks. The hand in her hair pulled her head so her face was forced to look at the mirror. Lydia was trying to keep her gaze attached to his, but began to falter after a minute of his relentless tirade on her body. Finally he let go of the hold on her hair, sliding the hand on her mouth back down to her neck to grasp her into his needed position.

“Good girls get to cum. Ride me until you do,” Jim pulled her hip back, dropping her downwards on top of him; he helped her readjust her knees so she was straddling him, still facing the mirror.

Lydia’s hand found her way to her throat and rested her hand on top of his; her other hand rested on the bed behind her, angling her hips as she hoisted them up and down. She moaned out a series of elated cries as she rode his cock feverously, her eyes managing to scope out his in the mirror from the cowgirl angle she was seated in. The grasp on her throat loosened and slid down to hold her hip as she bounced on top of him, her juices soaking the bed beneath them as her cries swelled into explosions. Her inner walls spasmed and clamped down onto his penis as her hips bucked up and down, over and over. A guttural shout escaped Jim’s chest as he shuddered and spurted hot ribbons of his semen deep inside of her, sliding his hands up her torso to grasp her breasts as he pulled her body backwards.

She landed on top of him, her back against his chest; the whispered heaves of their lungs danced about in the small bedroom as they both attempted to catch their breath. Lydia rolled over and off his body, then dragged herself towards the small attached bathroom. The last thing Jim remembered was seeing the bathroom door close – after that, he immediately fell into a relaxed, deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of extra steamy moments here; more to come. ;)  
> If you've made it this far, I'd love to know your thoughts - do you mind that I'm referring to Hopper as Jim? All feedback is appreciated.


	5. Keep Up

      The alarm clock blared its usual annoying screech, warning Jim to get out of the bed or face the consequences with Flo again. Before he could reach the button to disengage the sound, it had already silenced itself. That’s what he thought, at least, until his eyes focused on the figure standing before him. Lydia had knelt beside the bed, fully dressed, her makeup freshly done, canvas bags slung over her shoulders with an arm outstretched grasping a coffee mug.

“Hey, I don’t want to put a damper on your morning,” she started, releasing the mug into his hands as he sat up on the bed, “but I need to get going. I’m actually heading out of town for a few days to see my brother, then I’ll be back.”

Jim took a sip of the coffee, then regretted the decision as the scalding liquid graced his lips and tongue; he grimaced and set the mug down on the nightstand next to his empty beer can. “Good morning.”

She remained in her crouched position, a smile appeared on her lips, “Hey. You sleep okay?”

“I should be asking you that,” he mumbled back, rubbing his eye tediously with a bent knuckle.

“Yeah, all good on my end. I really do have to head out, though, but I’m leaving my coffee maker with you,” she pointed to the mug on the nightstand, “So, I kind of need to come back for that.”

“Do you just keep a coffee machine in your bag at all times? That’s far out there, Lydia,” Jim chided, reaching for the mug again to try for another sip.

“It’s a long story. Don’t break it, please,” she sat up off her heels and bent forward to brush his lips with hers. The touch was fleeting; as quickly as she kissed him, she backed away and headed towards the door. “Bye!”

The sound of the front door opening and shutting echoed into the hallway, his ears picking up the faint tap of a car door slamming shut in the background shortly after. Jim was left alone with his thoughts again; the quiet gave way to a gateway of shuffling through feelings and desires. He pined for his old life back again. The pills he took helped him forget the pain and sorrow, if only for a small window of time, coupled with the liquor to numb the residual pangs of grief. The mug in his hand suddenly felt heavy and cumbersome; he took a final sip before setting it down indefinitely on the nightstand.

The next few hours were blurry to Jim. He eventually found himself seated at his desk in front of a stack of penned notes from Flo, each one a different task or message. A shift in his vertigo brought him back to the present moment, catching himself in his chair as he stood up for what felt like the first time in hours. He stepped out into the main area of the precinct and surveyed the area, nodding at Callahan as he stood up and crossed the room.

“Hey Chief, you doin’ alright?” Callahan moseyed over and stopped right in front of Jim. “You’re looking a little spaced today.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Jim drew in a sharp breath through his nose. “Didn’t get much sleep last night. How’s that break-in case coming along? The one on Jackson Street?”

Callahan’s eyes narrowed at Jim, his breath hitched before he stumbled out, “Yeah… yeah, we looked into it yesterday and the neighbor told us he saw two young kids, maybe about 14 or 15 years old, running away from the backyard. He gave us a pretty good description of the perps, so we’re gonna canvas the middle school later this afternoon. Did you want to lend us a hand?”

Jim ran his palm tightly down his face, breathing out, “Yeah, sure. Why not.”  
It sure beat sitting at his desk, trapped alone with his thoughts.

 

     Three days had passed since Lydia took off. Jim and his team successfully located the youthful thieves and made them apologize to the homeowner. As Callahan shut his squad car door with the two kids inside, Jim whipped out a cigarette and lit it. He leaned back on the driver side door and sucked in a well-needed drag, waving Callahan off. The squad car drove away down Jackson Street; Jim watched it disappear into the distance, then peered around the neighborhood. He chuckled to himself, remembering a few days ago when he _thought_ this was the safest place in all of Hawkins.

“Is that _Chief_ Jimmy Hopper?”

Jim turned around and looked across the small road to see Sue Peterson, Lydia’s aunt. She was motioning for him to over towards her; he obliged.

“Hi Mrs. Peterson,” Jim approached her empty-handed having tossed his cigarette onto the pavement a few paces before reaching her.

She placed her hand on his upper arm, “Sue. Call me Sue, please. No one calls me Mrs. Peterson anymore, dear.”

Jim forced out a smile, not feeling conversational whatsoever. Sue retrieved her hand back and invited him inside for a cup of coffee, saying she hadn’t had company in the past few days and would be delighted to chat for a bit. _Wonderful,_ he thought, _just great_. He hoped his sarcastic thoughts weren’t somehow permeating to his facial expressions. Once inside the cozy home, Sue pointed down a long hallway near the kitchen foyer and mentioned something about Lydia.

“Sorry, what was that? I was… taking note of your coffee table in the living room. I have the same one,” Jim lied.

Sue patted the back of a dining room chair, telling him to sit without saying a word. “Oh, that old thing? I’ve had it since… wow, since before Hugh died. But what I said,” she disappeared into the kitchen, clanking around as she poured coffee. She quickly returned, setting the mug down in front of him.  
“I had said that Lydia’s been staying with me and her room was down that hall. She’s not in town right now, though. Not like I’ve had a chance to see her much – she’s made a friend here in Hawkins already and doesn’t come home until the morning.”

The coffee in Jim’s mouth somehow felt thicker as he tried to swallow it, maintaining eye contact with Sue as the burning liquid ran down his throat. He coughed a bit, clearing his throat in the process.

“Oh, that’s good. Staying out of trouble, I hope,” Jim mused, trying to act like he had no contact with Lydia since the day he reconnected with Sue. “That stuff staying here at the house? She’s not selling it here in Hawkins, right?”

She shook her head, “Oh heavens no, not Lydia. She’s not that type of young lady. Whatever you might think about her from that encounter a few days ago, please erase that.”

There’s no way he could erase that day – or night – from his mind.  Jim’s brain decided to inappropriately recall the moment he had Lydia’s hair in his fists as he drove her mouth downwards over his cock. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and lifted the coffee mug to his lips, taking in a hot sip to drown out the lewd memories. “She’s a very considerate woman.”

Sue had no idea he meant that in so many more ways than one. Her smile made him feel slightly guilty. Only _slightly_ , though.

A door opened in the house, a familiar voice called out. “Aunt Sue? I’m back.”

“In the dining room, Lyd!” Sue shouted in her direction.

Footsteps echoed until they drew closer, “Did something happen across the street? There’s a police car over…” her voice trailed off as she reached the dining area. Jim slowly swiveled his body to face Lydia. Their eyes locked; an incredible storm of butterflies attacked his insides, sending flutters of heat, desire, and fear throughout. Lydia’s pale cheeks were pricked with a pinkish hue; her eyes seeming to search his for an answer of some sort. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch her. It was like she appeared before him as an answer to his depression and depravity. Or rather, she was just a really good band-aid.

Sue cleared her throat, “I believe the Chief was over at the Erikson’s house. They had their house broken in to a few days ago. Did you manage to figure out who the culprits were?”

Jim kept his eyes locked onto Lydia’s for a moment longer before responding, “Yeah, it was some punk kids from the middle school. We made them come apologize to Mr. and Mrs. Erikson in-person, then sent them off to do some community service work. They’ll be picking up trash near the middle school for the next few weeks.”

Lydia scooted along the wall and into the kitchen, fixing herself a cup of coffee before returning to the dining room. She affixed her eyes upon Jim as she moved around the table, then seated herself one chair over from his, across from Sue.

“I take it you two have become further acquainted in the past few days,” Sue said firmly, flickering her eyes between Jim and Lydia. Lydia tried to not look over at him; he kept a straight face, staring at Sue, waiting for someone else to speak.

“I ran into him at Hideaway a few nights ago and we got to chatting,” Lydia’s voice seemed forcefully relaxed.

“Chatting? Is this a new age term for fucking?” Sue dropped the bomb.

Lydia’s eyes nearly popped out of her head at the sound of Sue tossing out ‘fucking’ as a causal word. Jim looked away, unintentionally clearing his throat, “Wow.”

“Oh, come on you two. I wasn’t born yesterday.” Sue had the upper hand now and she knew it. “The second you stepped in the room his eyes were locked onto yours like superglue. I used to teach high schoolers – you don’t think I could tell when two of them were _chatting_?”

Lydia lifted her coffee mug and took a huge sip as her eyes drifted over to Jim; he followed her lead and downed the rest of his coffee, setting the cup down on the kitchen table. “I need to get back to the precinct. Thanks for the coffee, Sue.”

Sue sighed, “Can’t blame me for being curious, right?” She stood along with Jim and embraced him in an unexpected hug, wrapping her arms over the top of his. “You’re welcome to stop by any time to check up on me.”

Jim flickered his eyes to Lydia, then back at Sue, “Yeah, sure. Take care.”

He stepped out of the dining room and trailed into the living room, hearing quick footsteps approach behind him as he reached the front door. “Hey…”

Jim’s hand had already twisted the knob and yanked the door open; he turned towards her voice, coming face to face with Lydia. Alone.

“Didn’t mean for that to become awkward. I had no idea you were here,” Lydia put her palms up in an ‘I surrender’ motion.

“Don’t worry about it,” an actual smile finally broke through on Jim’s face.

He looked towards the kitchen area and saw no movement. A second later, he pulled Lydia into an embrace. It was the sudden motion that made Lydia lose her balance, but Jim had his arms firmly wrapped around her, his palms resting on her lower back. She didn’t fall, but rather stumble into his hold, pushing him slightly backwards in his step. Jim tilted his head down to her mouth, pressing a kiss against her lips, eliciting a surprised moan from her throat. For a moment, they seemed to be living in slow motion – the kiss felt so needed, like he might have cried for it; he had forgotten how chaste a kiss could be.

“Wow,” Lydia exclaimed with almost a whisper, retrieving her face back from his. “It’s great to see you again.”

He continued to hold her, “What’re your plans for tonight?”

“Ah,” Lydia’s face turned a bit more serious, “I’m taking my aunt to her chemotherapy today. We won’t be back in town until closer to 9. I’m available after that, but…”

The word chemotherapy stabbed his heart a bit, sending a burning, twisting sensation into his stomach.  
Jim let her step back a bit, his arms settling back down at his sides. “But?”

She sheepishly smiled at him, “I’m actually kind of tired. I don’t think I’d be up for much tonight, and as much as I want to see you… I really need to get some proper sleep.”

He completely understood. A strange mix of relief and disappointment swept through his chest and while he knew he, too, needed restful sleep, he selfishly wanted her in his bed again. Lydia wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed them rapidly with her palms. Jim forgot he had opened the door before turning around to talk to Lydia – he stepped outside and cracked the door nearly shut, looking back in at Lydia.

“Get some rest tonight. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jim’s voice sounded almost forcibly pleasant, as if he was _actually_ mildly upset about being unable to see her that evening.

Lydia could tell he wasn’t pleased, but held onto her smile, “I would like that.”

“Alright, see ya.” He turned around and walked back towards his truck. A minute later and Jim was halfway down the street, pondering the remaining mess at the office that awaited his return. Before he hit the precinct, a twinge of regret spilled into his thoughts; maybe he shouldn’t have taken off so coldly. But as soon as he killed the engine in front of the building, a wash of loneliness, anger, and emptiness shadowed over him. He felt out of control. The prescription bottle in his pocket felt like a beacon, calling to him; he popped it open and dry swallowed two small oval-shaped white pills, keeping his head tossed back against the headrest for a few beats longer. The overwhelming feeling of loss gripped his chest, cascading an icy hot web of grief throughout his veins, spilling over into a dark scream that reverberated out from his lungs.

He almost clawed the tears from his eyes, his short fingernails scraping the skin on his cheeks as he tore at the liquid sentiment sliding down his face. _Sara_ , he thought over and over, _oh God why my little Sara_. He was even more furious with himself at how selfish he felt, wanting nothing more than his old life back, for his own happiness. No one else’s. He only wanted to feel safe again – feel like he had a home, a life, a future. It was all taken away from him so suddenly and he was back to square one; back in Hawkins. The cycle starts anew.

 

     Jim spent the next two days focusing solely on the Hawkins Police Department, playing catch up from the days prior. He reluctantly stayed sober aside from his prescription pills, surprising even himself after the first day; the caffeine intake increased in place of the alcohol consumption, though. Even though Flo was proud to see Jim taking an interest in his work, she knew there was something heavy weighing him down. She delegated a few of the more trivial tasks to the remainder of the team, then confronted Jim in his office as he was finishing up his ninth police report.

“Hopper, I need to talk to you,” Flo started as she walked into his office unapologetically.

“Yeah, ahh,” his view stayed glued to the form on his desk, pen twiddling in between his fingers, “give me a minute, alright?

Flo stared at Jim, remaining quiet for about 5 seconds before loudly clearing her throat, finally garnering his attention. “Yes, Flo?”

“Color me shocked, but are you avidly working because you’re suddenly finding joy in your career, or because you’re avoiding something else entirely?” Flo stated both options as if they were the only two possibilities available. “Don’t get me wrong, Hop, I’m happy to see you so dedicated, but it doesn’t feel genuine.”

He had nothing snappy to say back. A half-hearted smile lifted up the corners of his lips, “I’m fine, Flo. Thank you. Can you bring me the memos from earlier today?”

Her stance stood strong. Flo’s eyes bore holes into his head, as if she was trying to see through him and read his mind. She relented, “I told the guys to handle it. You sure you’re okay, Jim?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” he repeated, his attention back to the half-finished form on his desk.

She hesitated to leave and watched him for a few seconds longer, then sighed as she paced her way out of the office, purposely leaving his door open. His focus was no longer on the boring form beneath his palm, but instead on the oddly quiet common area. Flo’s footsteps echoed softly across the tall ceilings as they slowly disappeared into a humming silence. Jim’s eyes peered up at the clock near his doorframe and realized it was already past 8pm. An annoyed grumble murmured out of his stomach as he stood from his chair and stretched his back, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything aside from a donut earlier that day.

The overwhelming urge to dissolve the sober state he was currently in brewed heavily in his brain. Jim couldn’t decide between eating food or drinking at Hideaway, and continued to ponder the choice as he slipped his coat over his shoulders. His stride through the tight hallways of the precinct was direct as he headed for the front doors, nodding over at Flo on his way out.

“Goodnight, Flo.”

 

      Benny’s food was always reliable, overfilling, and delicious. The massive bacon cheeseburger Benny wrapped up and placed in the paper bag nearly broke through the bottom; the fries sitting on top didn’t help either. Jim snaked a hand inside the bag on the seat next to him as he slowly drove through town, his fingers yanking out a few hot fries to devour. After a few more lights, Jim pulled into a neighborhood and slowed to a stop, parking alongside the street, then killed the engine. With the window slightly cracked open, he leisurely relished the food, the weather, and the quiet.

The small hiatus seemed refreshing, albeit a sad way to rejuvenate oneself, and he knew it was temporary. As he stepped out of the vehicle and reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, a car passed by and pulled into the driveway of Mrs. Peterson’s house. Acting as nonchalantly as possible, Jim continued to pull out and light a cigarette, all the while watching a person exit the passenger side of the car. It was Lydia – he could tell from her silhouette. Bent at her hips, she leaned into the passenger side window and chatted with the driver for a minute, then walked away towards the rear of the house. The car left shortly after she disappeared into the backyard.

As Jim felt his feet move in the direction of the house, he vaguely remembered noting a backdoor at the end of the hallway where Lydia’s temporary room was. He didn’t want to assume, but his hunch was that if he knocked at the backdoor, Lydia was sure to investigate. A moment later, he tested that hypothesis and rapped lightly on the backdoor of Mrs. Peterson’s house. The quiet in between the knock and waiting allowed his brain to finally catch up with his body – what the hell was he doing out here? A jiggle of the door handle brought Jim back to the moment, a slight panic settling into his chest as the door creaked open to reveal the dark interior of the house.

“Jim? What are you doing out here?” Lydia appeared almost ghost-like in the dark, the light from the moon casting an eerie white glow across her skin.

He shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head in disappointment, “No idea. I wanted to say hi, see how you’re doing, I guess.”

     Lydia’s eyes surveyed him standing on the backdoor stairs, seeing how utterly lost and strangely warm he looked. He didn’t look helpless – he looked needy. Unable to truly express what he desired or what would help numb him for a small fraction of time. Wordlessly, she reached out and yanked him into the house, reaching behind him to close the door and lock it shut. As he began to mumble out apologies, Lydia opened the bedroom door Jim had noticed in the hallway before, and disappeared inside. He quieted and followed suit, shutting the door behind himself as he allowed his eyes to adjust to the nearly pitch-black darkness that swallowed the whole bedroom. A flash of light in the corner forced his eyes shut at the sudden intrusion, shielding his eyes with his forearm.

“Oh, sorry about that,” he heard Lydia say with a smile in her voice.

Jim lowered his arm to see her standing on the opposite side of the bed, near the lamp she turned on.

They stared at one another from across the room, both waiting for the other to make the first move. He seemed to marvel in how quickly she changed into soft athletic shorts and a tank top, out of whatever she was wearing out before. That thought reminded him of what he had seen moments before – who was that person driving Lydia around? He wanted to ask her, but instead, noticed the intense quiet of the house. The pair of eyes staring back at his seemed to not want to give way.

“Is your aunt here?” Jim whispered, his gaze unwavering.

“No,” Lydia whispered back, in a sad, pitiful, elongated way.

“Do you remember the safe word?” his tone indifferent.

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ve missed your mouth.” He approached her as he spoke, his hands snaking around to hold her backside. “Kiss me.”

Lydia eyed him, then tiptoed up to meet his lips, feeling his fingers grasp a better hold on her rear. She snaked her tongue into his mouth and wrapped her arms around his neck, seeking out and sucking on his tongue before he pulled away. Jim’s hands slid up to her hips and turned her around to face the bed, walking her forward before she hit the mattress. She crawled on top of the bed and remained on all fours, perking her butt up at him, teasing him with the shorts that barely covered her ass at all.

“So,” Jim stepped forward and rubbed his hand lovingly on her ass cheek, “tell me about the guy that drove you home tonight.”

“What?” Lydia turned her head towards his, immediately feeling the smack of a hand against her rear.

“You heard me, don’t make me repeat myself,” his tone was friendly, but firm. Another smack on the other side of her rear.

Lydia hesitated for too long, then felt her shorts being yanked down to her knees, followed by two back-to-back smacks on each ass cheek. He quickly noticed she wasn’t wearing anything underneath the shorts. A whining moan could be heard escaping her lips as his hand caressed the pink marks starting to appear on her skin.

“The guy you saw was my brother,” she started, “he came to stay with my aunt for the evening. He dropped me off after we admitted her to the hospital.”

The moment would have almost been ruined by that bomb, if it were not for the fact that Lydia’s bare ass was perked up in his direction, the outside of her folds glistening in the dim light. He knelt on the floor and buried his face directly into her, his tongue plunging deep inside of her warm, delicious center. A husky moan pressed out from his throat as he swallowed her juices, his tongue seeking more, diving back inside her pussy with intent to drink her dry. But then again, that’s what he wanted her to do to him.

He pulled his head away and stood up, eliciting a protesting whine from Lydia at the absence of his touch. She turned to look at him and watched him sit down on the edge of the bed, his back to hers. Lydia carefully backed up and stood on the ground in front of Jim, her hands covering her naked lower half of her body. He smirked at her gesture of modesty.

“You’ve been such a good girl waiting for me,” Jim leaned back on the bed and started to undo his belt.

“Yes, it’s been quite a while… sir,” the last word almost a whisper from Lydia, watching as he sprang free his erection from his briefs. She stepped forward and began to straddle his hips, pressing her lips against his as her hands tugged at his face, pulling him into her mouth. Jim’s hands slid to the hem of Lydia’s top, yanking it up and over her head, breaking the bruising kiss between the two momentarily. She reconnected their mouths immediately after the clothing was tossed aside, positioning her hips directly over his erection.

“Hey,” Jim softly whispered, pulling Lydia’s face from his.

Lydia stiffened in his hold, her breathing shallow. A look of curiosity, anxiety, and pure lust was painted in her eyes as she stared into his frosty irises. Jim leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes for a few seconds before speaking.

“You’re going to feel so alone when you go through this. I wouldn’t wish it on anybody.”

     A heavy breath sighed out from Lydia’s chest, heaving with an all-too-familiar tone of sorrow and grief. Before he realized it, his arms had wrapped around Lydia and pulled her into an embrace. The warm, sweet scent of her perfume lingered on her skin as Jim ran his lips along her neck, tasting her skin with the flicker of his tongue. Jim could feel Lydia lowering her hips to meet his erection, the outside of her entrance teasing his tip with her warm, wet juices. He stopped her, thoughtlessly.

When she looked up into his eyes, her heavy, wet tears pulled down her cheeks and gathered at her chin. A muffled sob escaped between her lips as he pulled her back into his embrace, whispering soothing words into her hair. Cancer is bullshit. Jim knew nothing he was saying would make her feel better – not even for a single second; it still didn’t stop him from doing so. A slow build of suffocating anxiety wrapped around his brain, his chest. Jim hoped he had his pills in his pocket.

Unwrapping his arms from around her body and sliding her off his hips, Jim moved forward off the bed and reached for his pants. The pills smacked against the plastic bottle inside of the pocket, cascading an immediate wave of relief across his chest. He popped two and dry swallowed, pressing his fingers to his sticky, sweaty forehead as he leaned back against the headboard.

“It never gets easier, does it?”

Lydia’s words were muffled by the incessant, rapid rush of blood pounding through his veins, but heard clearly enough for him to gingerly open his eyes in response. Jim’s eyes darted around for a moment, then shut again as he focused on pretending he wasn’t there. If he closed his eyes tight enough, the pounding of his heart matched a memory of Sara’s footsteps tapping the pavement as she chased him around their front yard; a smile edged his lips, then quickly sagged downwards into an unforgiving scowl.

“No,” he whispered, “it never does.”

      The bed creaked and shook his body, prompting Jim to open his eyes again. He watched Lydia leave the bedroom, hearing her footsteps echo in the hallway and disappear, followed by the distant sound of running water; Jim wondered if he bolted for the door now, if he’d make it to his truck before she realized he was gone. His body didn’t respond to his thoughts, paralyzing him in his current slumped over state.

Lydia returned with a glass of water in her hand, setting it down on the nightstand next to Jim. His gaze followed her movements, wondering how she could be so thoughtful and connected to his needs without them ever speaking a word. This type of treatment was unnecessary; he knew he wasn’t any good for it – Jim would give up every moment with Lydia for a passing second with Sara again.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she whispered out as she seated herself at the foot of the bed. “I know I can’t force you to stay, but… could you…” her voice trailed off as she started to sob again.

Jim bit down on his tongue, hard, forcing himself to respond in her favor. It was the least he could do.  
“I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

He reached for the glass of water and downed half the contents quickly, standing up from the bed a moment later to redress himself. “I have to get to work early and my truck is illegally parked at the end of the street.”

Lydia wiped at her eyes, spreading mascara across her fingers, leaving black smudges around her eyes. She looked like a mess, he thought.  
  
“Thank you,” she sniffled out, “I don’t have anyone else to talk to about this…”

As he sat back down on the bed, Jim pulled her into his embrace, replaying that last sentence over and over. He wished he didn’t have to relive this type of pain again – the pain of _knowing_ someone was going to die soon and there was absolutely nothing anyone could do to stop it. The scarring of his own losses was inflamed and swollen, giving no quarter to Lydia’s emotional needs; he held her silently, counting the passing minutes in his mind as he waited for her to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't realized it by now, this is a pre-Stranger Things story; Benny is still alive and makin' those bangin' burgers for our leading man, Hopper. :)
> 
> Thanks for sticking through this part of the story, I know it was full of angst and grief. My motivation is to get deep into the (possible) psyche of Hopper, since we all know the growth/changes he goes through in the series.


	6. Lock Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to flesh out a few more chapters before posting, but figured you've all waited long enough - thanks for being so patient, my lovely readers!

The following morning was Sara’s birthday.  He treated it like every other work day, except he arrived early for once and bought the donuts for the precinct.

“Good morning, Chie—”

Flo’s wide-eyed gaze followed Jim’s movements as he made his way towards the coffee machine, donut boxes in hand.

“Hopper I’m shocked,” Flo regained her voice, “what got you here so early? Did you even sleep last night?”

Jim poured himself a cup of coffee, snagging two donuts from the nearest box, “I slept a bit. Just not well. But hey, I got the donuts early enough and managed to get you a coveted jelly filled one.”

Flo’s eyes lit up momentarily and a small smirk came to her face, but she quickly replaced it with a worried gaze. “Hop, is there anything I can _do_ for you, sweetheart? You know I worry about you – A LOT.”

“You don’t want the jelly one? Fine, I’ll take it.” Jim shoved one of the donuts from his hand into his mouth, then reached out towards the donut box again.

Flo’s hand whacked his, blocking the donut box from his touch. Jim recoiled and let out a protesting yelp, backing away from her personal space. He turned towards his office, holding his other donut up in the air as if it were a trophy. “Tell me if I get any calls,” he mumbled out through the chewed donut in his mouth.

 

                    If Jim’s stomach didn’t alert him to the fact that he was starving, he might not have realized the day had gone by. Jim scratched his chin as he stood up and made his way to the doorway of his office, leaning into the hallway to look at the clock on the wall.

“It’s already 5:10,” he said aloud, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat and shouted to the front, “Flo – are you still here?”

He heard the click of Flo’s shoes on the tile as she neared the corner to his office, her hands holding her pocketbook, “Yes Hop, what do you need?”

“You hungry? I’m starvin’,” Jim’s hand held his stomach dramatically.

Flo walked to Jim and handed him a crisp $10 bill, snapping her pocketbook shut, “I called in to Benny about a minute ago, would you mind picking it up?”

He smirked, “There’s probably no other woman that could read my mind like you do, Flo.”

“Oh, be still my beating heart,” Flo rolled her eyes, resting her free hand on her hip.

 

                    The truck rolled to a heavy stop, bouncing the cabin up and down a few times before settling still. Jim’s driver side door creaked as it opened and shut, his feet carried him inside Benny’s with a sense of urgency; he was, after all, starving. Benny was finishing up with another patron, handing change back to the person and thanking them with a brisk smile and a nod.

“Benny!”

Benny turned to see Jim stepping up to the counter; a small smile graced his lips as he reached for the finished bag of food and handed it to Jim. “Long time no see, stranger. How’ve you been?”

Jim handed Benny the $10 and waved at him to keep the change, “Things are good, things are good.”

Benny could see Jim wasn’t telling the truth. He reached for a basket behind him, containing a fresh order of onion rings, “Help me eat these. The last guest decided they didn’t want them after all.”

Jim hesitated with the bag of food in his hand, remembering Flo was waiting for the food, but… free onion rings. He wouldn’t be long anyways, Jim thought. The bag settled onto the counter and an onion ring was immediately replaced in his grip. Benny rang up Jim’s order, minding the change, tipping his bounty into a mason jar next to the register.

“Y’know, I think we’ve been friends long enough for me to be able to ask this,” Benny started.  
He caught Jim mid-chew with a puzzled look across his face. Benny chuckled and continued.  
“If you’re still seeing her, then I’ll back off…”

A chill speared Jim’s chest, spreading a choking set of vines across his entire torso, wrapping tightly around his throat; a flash of Lydia’s image appeared in his mind’s eye. He felt his face turning red from his lungs refusing to pump.

“ _Are_ you still seeing Helen?” Benny finished, pressing his palms onto the countertop, leaning into his grip.

Jim blinked. His mouth opened, and he swallowed a gasp of air, choking instantly on a small piece of the onion ring that didn’t quite go down all the way. Benny reached out to help, but Jim waved him away and gave him a quick thumbs up gesture. A glass of water hit the edge of the counter near Jim a moment after, compliments of Benny’s quick thinking. Some of the other patrons quieted their chatter to focus on the recovering man standing at the counter; one of them clicked their tongue in disappointment, probably wishing Jim made more of a scene.

“No,” Jim finally managed, “I don’t think she’d take my call, even if I rang her up.”

Benny wiped his hands on his apron, a broad smile on his face, “Yeah? You don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Hey, uh,” Benny’s voice went down in volume, “you meet anyone new yet? How you holdin’ up, really?”

Jim took a long sip of water, then cleared his throat, “I’ve been having a good time, yeah. I’m not great, Benny, but I’m alive.”

Benny stared at Jim. “Whatever the fuck that means anymore.”

Jim had already set the water glass down and snatched the bag of food off the counter, tipping his hat to Benny with a neutral upturn of his lips; he turned and took off out the restaurant. Back at the precinct, Jim munched on mildly warm fries and pondered his sudden jump to the thought of Lydia when Benny mentioned his interest in a woman. The fact that he felt almost a sense of infidelity, a shock of disloyalty, coursing through his body, meant only one thing – he needed to cut off his communication with Lydia. Jim couldn’t afford to get attached to a person with solid intentions to leave; he couldn’t rely on her and have her disappear. That evening, he made the decision to not interfere with Lydia or her relatives’ lives any longer.

 

                    With a mixture of caffeine and sugar, Jim finished up his third day of not complaining when Flo piled on town complaints. So long as the coffee was fresh, and the donuts weren’t stale, Jim felt a perpetual state of flatline neutrality. The rest of his coworkers felt he might need to take a few days off and urged Flo to suggest Hopper take a holiday; the way he worked non-stop was almost unsettling.

“Hey Hop,” Callahan shot up from his desk, fixing his belt as he firmed his stance, “I mean, Chief. Do you, maybe, wanna go get a drink at Hideaway with me?”

Jim slowed his stride to a halt, “What for?”

Callahan glanced down at Powell, who shot an urging glare back up at him, “To uh, have a drink?”

Jim seemed to ponder the request momentarily, then started to decline the offer; Powell stood up as backup. “It’s my birthday, chief. I told him not to bother you.”

“Bother me?” Jim replied, his attention finally hooked. “You guys want me to go get a drink? Let’s go – drinks on me, we need to celebrate. Flo…” he looked around the precinct for her eyes, then pointed in her direction, “close up for us, will ya?”

Callahan and Powell both watched as Jim disappeared back to his office, then made eye contact.

“Damn it, Phil. Now I gotta tell my wife I’m gonna be late for dinner.”

Callahan slipped his jacket over his shoulders, “You’re the one that said we needed to take him out for a drink. I tried the best I could.”

Powell glared in Callahan’s direction, taking note of Jim returning with his jacket on and keys in-hand.

The three men walked over to the bar instead of driving, ditching their usual uniform hat and jacket combo for a civilian overcoat. Jim made his way to an empty barstool as if it were magnetic, leaning on the bar top over to Mick to ask for three beers.

“You uh, been coming here often after work a lot, Chief?” Callahan asked as seated himself comfortably atop the barstool.

“No, not recently.”

Before the mug could hit the bar top, Jim lifted the glass away from Mick’s grasp and took a large sip. Callahan and Powell both continued to stare at Hopper with mild concern in their eyes, before Powell shook his head and sipped his beer.

 

                    Not before long, Hopper pushed both Callahan and Powell to drink another round of beers, then each do a 2oz shot of bourbon. Jim laughed heartily with a cigarette in between his lips, slapping a hand on Powell’s back in a friendly gesture.

“Happy birthday, my friend. You gonna be able to finish the next round of beers heading over?” Jim puffed out a small cloud of smoke, smirking behind the veil.

Powell backed off the barstool and placed a $10 bill on the bar top, putting his hands up in a retreating motion, “No way man, I gotta get home to my wife. She’s been delaying dinner for over an hour now. I’ll see you in the mornin’, chief.”

Callahan was copying Powell’s lead, only a few seconds behind his moments, “Same here, chief.”

“C’mon, you’re not married,” Jim protested, watching the three beers arrive exactly as Callahan dropped his cash down next to an ashtray.

“Nah but I can’t keep up with you. You’ll end up telling me to scram sooner rather than later, anyways,” Callahan said warmly as he made his way to the exit. “See ya tomorrow.”

Mick leaned on the bar top and nodded to the beers, “You want me to take these off your tab?”

Jim took another long pull on his cigarette, contemplating the idea of finishing all three beers on his lonesome. He didn’t want them to go to waste, but he also didn’t want to get blackout drunk in Hideaway again. Mick straightened up his stance and gestured to a corner of the bar behind Jim’s back left-hand side, “You could send one over to the woman from out of town.”

He pulled the cigarette out from between his lips and dropped into the ashtray on the bar top, turning slightly to face the direction Mick noted. A sea of dim shadows from the barely lit corner obscured the figure sitting at the lone table against the wall, but he could tell by the silhouette alone. It was Lydia. His sensibilities kicked in and he knew when to leave well enough alone; he began to object, offering to close the tab. But, he heard her voice calling out to him.

Mick scooted two of the beers closer to Jim’s side of the bar, “What can one beer hurt? Go drown your sorrows together.”

“You’d be a terrible therapist, you know that, right?” Jim said teasingly as he stood up from the barstool.

As he approached Lydia’s table with the two beers, he noticed her table was littered with small rocks glasses and a single beer bottle. She looked up at him and smiled, gesturing for him to sit at one of the empty chairs, “Hey Jim.”

He noted her puffy eyes and assumed with the collection of glassware on the table, that her aunt had died. She leaned on the table and pointed to the beer, “Is that for me?”

Without waiting for a response, she snatched the beer and began to chug it. Jim stared in awe for a moment before reaching for the bottle from her hands.

“Woah, woah, slow down,” Jim managed to get her to release the bottle, “let me catch up at least.”

Lydia laughed, dropping her poise momentarily, “You’re really funny, you know that? I –”

She stood up, then reseated herself in the chair closest to Jim, “I need to say something to you.”

Jim took a huge swig of his beer, then breathed out heavily, “What’s that, sweetheart?”

“I think… there shouldn’t be any attachment to this – thing – we have going on. You know what I mean? Both you and I,” she looked up at him with clarity in her eyes, “we could have been something if it weren’t for our circumstances. But, I don’t think that should limit the chance we have right now.”

Jim blinked incredulously, “A chance to do what?”

Lydia’s fingers danced gently along his forearm, “To remove all inhibitions and enjoy each other’s company, for however long that may be for. I’m not asking for a relationship or a promise of one, Jim. No strings attached.”

He kept his gaze on her fingers as they tapped along his arm, his mind weighing his sanity over primal urges on a cerebral scale. His disbelief of this actually being a no strings attached kind of situation continued to cloud his decision-making process.

“Also, you have my coffee maker still,” she smirked, finally catching his gaze. “I did mention I would be needing that back.”

Lydia’s fingers traced their way down his forearm, quickly wrapping around the neck of the bottle previously stolen from her grasp; it graced her lips a second later, then popped as it hit the top of the table. He smirked at her, then shook his head before taking another sip of his beer, setting the bottle down next to hers with a copycat motion.

“You wanna know something? Since we’re sharing _somethings_ and all,” Jim leaned on the edge of the table, his body leaning a little closer towards hers.

Lydia mimicked his posture, scooting her left knee in between his, nearly straddling his leg, “Sure.”

“Nobody really calls me Jim,” he said very matter of fact, “Most of the time its Hop, or Hopper, but rarely just Jim.”

Lydia’s eyes darted back and forth between his pair, a huge smile swelled up across her cheeks before laughter spilled out of her mouth. She kept opening her eyes to look at his, then laughed even harder when he stared back with a goofy grin across his drunken face. Finally, her laughter died down into a fit of giggles and she was able to speak.

“I’ve figured that out by now, but _you_ never corrected me. _Hop_.”

Jim grimaced slightly, “Sounds weird coming from you.”

“I’ll stick with Jim,” Lydia’s palmed his knee, inching her hand up his thing. “So, can I count on you to help me get a reprieve from this depressing week?”

“Right now?” his voice was nearly a whisper in the loud bar as he watched her fingers dance a little too close to his half-erect friend. “I can’t—”

Without a warning, Lydia leapt up and yanked cash out from her back pocket, “Your truck, let’s go.”

“In my truck,” he replied without moving from his seat, “which is back at the precinct.”

Lydia bent over, and her eyes met his, “You can show me your office. Maybe handcuff me for assaulting an officer.”

She pressed her lips against his as she dipped her hand between his thighs, firmly cupping him before backing away entirely. As she turned on heel and headed for the exit, Jim’s eyes caught up with his brain and realized she was wearing a dress. A short, thin sundress that hung delicately on her taut body, teasing the shape of her hips as it outlined her torso and flared at the waist. Jim realized he wasn’t the only pair of eyes watching her leave the bar, which triggered his body to stand and head in her direction. He dropped a pair of $20s on the bar top and waved in Mick’s direction, slinging his coat over his shoulders as he stepped out the front door. As Jim turned the corner and looked for Lydia, a sharp wind whipped at his hands – his brain screamed at him to panic, but he couldn’t figure out why.


	7. Open Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat on this chapter for a few months before posting it. The next chapter is in the works! Thanks for your patience.

          After spending a solid three minutes outside in the frigid air, Jim finally managed to unlock the precinct doors. He ushered Lydia in, scolding her for wearing practically nothing outside during a freeze warning, all the while locking themselves inside the police station. He turned to see an empty lobby with practically no lights on, no movement, and no Lydia.

“Hey,” he called out towards the main floor, “you can’t be poking around in here. You’re not technically on the best terms with my team.”

Silence.

“Lydia, I’m being serious,” Jim started as he stepped his way down the hall towards his office, noticing the door was open and his desk light was on. “What’re you doing in here?”

The heater on the wall was cranked up and Lydia had wrapped herself up in one of his jackets, her hands snuggled deep inside the pockets. She had seated herself at his desk, looking proud of herself for having done so, too. “Reminiscing, _Chief_.”

He shut the door behind himself and slid his jacket off his arms, then tossed it up onto the coat rack in the corner. “Remembering how you used to wear more clothing?”

She smirked at him, “Well, how else was I supposed to get your attention? Show up to your place naked?”

“Aside from that definitely working, you do realize you could have caught a nasty cold being dressed like that out here,” Jim had made his way around his desk and behind his chair, “I’m sure the weather in Florida isn’t like Indiana. Maybe you just need someone to teach you proper clothing etiquette.”

His fingertips slid down each side of her neck, the palms of his hands settling down on each collarbone, “For instance, this low neckline is quite bare.” His fingers shoved past the thin fabric and plunged lower, his hands taking a firm hold of her braless breasts, “The winds would cut right through this dress and eat you alive.”

His thumb and forefingers squeezed and tugged lightly on each nipple, while his hot, alcohol-laced breath teased the skin against the side of her neck, “If I don’t eat you first.”

“I imagine you’ll be surprised to see if my lack of clothing continues elsewhere,” Lydia whispered, feeling his hands begin to retreat in response to her words.

Jim stepped out from behind the chair and pushed his desk further away from them, crowding opposite side of his office. Lydia let out a few surprised chuckles in response to his vigor, then yelped as he swiveled the chair she was sitting in towards his body. He knelt before her, eliciting a purr from Lydia as he pried her knees apart and slid the hem of her dress upwards to reveal the Schrodinger’s panties. A mix of disappointment and relief washed over his mind upon seeing the white cloth peeking out from the hood of the dress.

“Not what you expected?” she smirked down at him, tilting her head to the side with a smug glint in her eye.

“At least you knew enough to wear these,” his fingers had tugged them down her thighs and dragged them to her ankles, “scoot closer, keep the knees spread.”

Lydia’s smirk softly fell into a neutral line, her hips scooting herself to the edge of the desk chair, suddenly feeling exposed in this man’s territory. He pulled at her hips and brought her even closer to the edge, licked his lips, then looked up into Lydia’s eyes. “Keep the dress pulled up, too.”

Without a hesitation, Jim’s face disappeared in between her thighs. The only thing Lydia knew was that his tongue was in the right place and she had to remember to keep her knees spread apart; she didn’t realize her voice was making sounds on its own, moaning softly into the room, adding to the wet noises and jagged breathing. His thumbs dug into the insides of her thighs, keeping her pried open for his mouth to explore without interruption, which he did so delightfully. Sliding his tongue inside of her momentarily, he captured a bit of her juices, then watched as they began flow out of her opening onto the seat of his wooden chair. The liquid captured the light from the desk lamp, giving Jim the incentive to decorate the chair even further with Lydia’s glistening wetness.

The last thing Jim thought he would ever be doing is kneeling on his office floor. The sound that shook out from Lydia’s body when Jim hit that spot on her clit made it all worth it, though. She cried out for him to keep doing what he was doing, almost forgetting to keep her knees open; he felt the brush of her knees against the sides of his head. Lydia bucked her hips forward into his mouth and he shoved her body back down, the hands on her thighs gripping tighter. Jim’s mouth somehow managed to latch onto her clit and make work of her building orgasm, feeling her juices pool around his chin on the chair. His eyes flickered upwards to see Lydia unable to handle the impending orgasm; her bottom lip was being held so tightly between her teeth that he figured she may bite it off.

“Do you want to cum?” he whispered, his tongue lapping at her clit.

“Yes,” Lydia nearly growled in response, “Please Jim, you’re so good.”

He stood up from his kneeling position, towering over Lydia with his stance as his hands began to fiddle with his belt, “Yeah? So good, I’m going to make you wait. See if you deserve to.”

With that said, his erect penis was freed from his slacks and bobbing before Lydia’s face. Her eyes met his just as she opened her mouth and leaned forward to take him in. The warm, wet, velvety enclosure of her mouth around his cock was enough to provoke a guttural moan from within his chest. Lydia moaned in response, pulling his length inside of her mouth with each bob of her head. She twisted her tongue along the underside of his shaft, pressing upwards until she glided to the tip, where her lips popped the head out and back in. He mimicked her rhythm and glided himself into her throat, deeper than she was allowing, provoking a surprised yelp from Lydia.

“I’ll let you cum if you can handle me for longer than that. I know you can do it,” Jim whispered down at her, holding her saliva-soaked chin with his fingertips.  
Lydia’s eyes were burning with that intoxicated desire that he firmly remembers from the first night they spent together. She took him back in to his fullest and he held himself in place, not moving; her throat muscles tried to evoke a swallowing motion, but mostly failed. He smirked at her, his fingers gently stroking her cheeks in praise, “Just like that.”

The forward motion from his hips pressed the tip of his cock even deeper against the inside of her throat, then a moan of relief escaped her lips before turning into a muffled scream as he pulled backwards, then shoved his hips forward again. Jim’s hands held her face in place as he angled himself downwards, keeping a steady tempo with the pump of his hips, watching her face take his engorged cock over and over. Finally, he slowed his movement and yanked himself out of her mouth, pulling her body up from the chair, “I never thought I’d have sex in my office with a person I almost arrested.”

Lydia’s swollen lips let out a small chuckle as she positioned herself to lean over the top of his desk, “Yeah, you’re _so bad,_ Chief. You really seem into corporal punishment, too. I wonder what would have happened to little ol’ me had you actually arrested m—” she shouted out a pleasurable moan as his saliva-coated cock penetrated her wet, tight vagina. He slid all the way inside of her, then pulled back slowly and chuckled as he nearly jackhammered his way to the edge of his orgasm. The vigorous motion vibrated Lydia against the top of the desk and coupled with Jim’s cock teasing her G spot internally, left no quarter to Lydia’s composure.

“Jim, oh, fuck,” she moaned, her check pressed against the desk, “I’m cumming.” The wild, sporadic muscle spasms inside of her vagina walls clamped down onto his cock, robbing Jim of his composure, too. He cursed loudly as he came right as she was finishing, unloading ribbons of white hot semen into her body, sliding downwards into his chair with his trousers bunched around his ankles. Catching his breath seemed like the best idea he had in a while, so all other senses took a back seat to his need for air – he swore he was blind for nearly a minute while his lungs recuperated.

 

                    The warmth from the heater in the room enveloped Jim’s nude bottom half, reminding him that he was nearly pantless in the precinct. He tried to stand and pull his trousers up from around his ankles but found that the office wouldn’t stop spinning and relented back to the chair. He groaned in misery.

“You hangin’ in there?” Lydia’s voice called out from a corner of his office. Jim moaned again in drunken distress. “You want some water?”

Without warning, Jim dry heaved, sounding like a dog getting ready to hack up its dinner. He heard Lydia mumble something along the lines of ‘Oh boy’ or ‘Oh no’, then the sound of something scraping along the floor, getting closer to his body. His eyes, opened to slits, watched as she positioned his garbage can next to his bunched-up trousers. She quickly retreated away from the scene and mentioned she’d be right back.

Lydia returned with a paper cup filled with water, “You gonna make it out of here?”

His composure seemed to return for a moment, allowing him to down the contents of the cup into the warzone he calls his stomach. “Probably.”

“I can work with ‘probably’,” Lydia smiled. “I’m also guessing that I need to drive?”

Jim stood and pulled his pants up, overlooking the mess of bodily fluids on his person and office floor, “No way… I’d get guillotined in the town square if any of my guys saw you driving my truck.”

“Well you might kill yourself, and me, if you drove – you are really in no shape to walk, let alone operate machinery.” Lydia chided, snaking his keys from his jacket pocket on the coatrack. “I promise I’ll obey all posted signs.”

He straightened himself up, then groaned, smashing his hand up against his face to hold his head still, “Alright, just… just drive slow, okay?”

                    After what felt like an eternity of a car ride for Jim, they finally arrived at his trailer. He didn’t remember getting out of the truck or walking inside, but he does remember waking up hours later with the spins, feeling like a dried-out sponge. The sunlight penetrated through the slats of his blinds, beaming a string of light directly onto his face; he really wished he had bought blackout curtains instead of repurposing blinds from his cabin. The scent of coffee wafted into his bedroom, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. That thought sent his body into a mild panic, which reignited the queasy, spinning feeling in his head.

“Diane?” he called out mindlessly, trying to sit up and fight the orbit of the bedroom.

A woman’s voice, not Diane’s, responded, “Ah, nope. Just your favorite criminal, Lydia.”

It took him a solid seven seconds to recall his current state of life, which didn’t include his ex-wife Diane and instead, included a woman from Florida with a knack for felonious intent. “Christ, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just take these aspirins and I can at least feel like I did something good for the day,” Lydia’s palm met his dropped two tiny pills into it. He popped them into his mouth and swallowed.

“How did we get here?” he mumbled slowly. His face twisted into confusion, “How did _you_ get me in this bed?”

Lydia smirked, “You don’t recall letting me drive your truck?”

The skeptical look on his face was priceless. “…no?”

“Well, what do you remember?” she prodded.

Jim took note of her distance from his body and the absence of his garbage can – he externally cringed. “Did I… y’know…” his hand waved from his stomach outward, “throw up on you?”

Lydia sighed, the smirk not wavering, “You kinda did… outside the trailer, luckily.”

He let out a long groan. “I am so sorry, Lydia.”

“Don’t sweat it, seriously,” she pointed to the glass of water, “You should probably drink that. You woke up twice and hit the garbage can.”

“I feel ten times worse now, thanks,” Jim said dryly. “You really didn’t have to clean up after me.”

“Oh, and sleep in a room that smells like puke all night? No thank you,” she finally came closer and sat gently on the bed.

Jim tilted his head at her, “Did we have sex in my office last night, or was that a dream?”

“I might have coaxed you in there, yes.”

He finally chuckled, “And did I also puke in there?”

“You almost did. I think what put you over the edge was me attempting to drive your truck,” Lydia gave him a guilty look. “That beast is a little too much vehicle for tipsy Lydia.”

“No! Not the truck. Tell me I didn’t puke in the truck,” he almost stood up and ran outside, but she quickly denied his panicked guess. “So, lemme get this straight. We got drunk, had sex in my office, you _drove_ my truck home, and then I made a mess all over the place?”

She nodded.

“Oh, good. Just making sure. And _why_ are you still here? Any other sane person would have said ‘Sayonara’ to me at this point,” he reached for his pack of cigarettes on the nightstand, yanked one out and lit it up. “Even if the sex is good, no one wants to clean up someone else’s excrement’s.”

“That’s the key word, Jim – sane.” Lydia winked at him, almost in a deliberately creepy way.

The cigarette smoke floated around the room, tinting his view of Lydia with white haze. He couldn’t take his eyes off her and felt sort of at peace for a moment. If only for a moment, though. Jim chuckled through the cigarette in between his lips, turning away from Lydia to drop the precariously hanging ashes into the tray on his nightstand.

“You’re right, you know,” he started, turning back towards Lydia, “we could have been _something_ if it weren’t for our circumstances.”

“So, you _do_ remember last night,” Lydia smirked while her eyes told a different story and he could tell she was a little sadden by that fact – there wasn’t a future for them together.

Keeping his cool, Jim pulled on his cigarette again, “It’s coming back to me.”

Lydia stood and made her way out of the bedroom, returning a moment later with two mugs filled with coffee, “Here, this will help get you moving. I need a ride back into town, if you can.”

The first sip of coffee was always the best. Jim savored the toasty scent of the ebony liquid, the mug warm and comforting in his hands. He nodded in agreement as he was swallowing the coffee, wishing he had some bacon and eggs to eat right about now. “You hungry? Want breakfast?”

Lydia shifted on her feet, bringing the mug down from her lips, “I need to get back to my aunts house, actually. My brother is waiting for me there. But, I do appreciate the offer.”

That last line felt cold, almost numb – Jim suddenly recalled his stance to not get involved with Lydia or her family again, but understood it was a little too late to go back to where he was.  
“Sure, yeah,” he scratched at his chin, the movement wafting his body odor up into his nostrils – he winced, “I need to take a shower first, if you don’t mind waiting for a bit.”

A smile, a real one, graced her lips again, “I won’t argue with that – you probably have a cornucopia of bodily fluids all over yourself.”

“You sure know how to make a guy feel sexy,” he said sarcastically, making his way towards the bathroom with his coffee cup in one hand and cigarette in the other.

While in the shower, Jim chided himself mentally for bringing up the quote of them ‘possibly having a future together’ – he thought it was a good move, until he realized that Lydia was just putting up a strong front. That woman didn’t realize her eyes could speak on her behalf, betraying her private thoughts, screaming her true intentions aloud with a flutter of her eyelashes. If there was one thing he was good at, it was reading people’s body language; it was a damn burden on his heart this time around. Jim knew he couldn’t offer her what she secretly wanted – he wanted it, too, but had no torch to light that path. Snuffed out by the loss of Sara, his flame burned dim and cold. Regardless of Lydia’s fiery spirit that seemed to bring warmth into his life, his torch remained doused in the cold depths of loss. There was no way out of this – he had to trench through the darkness on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone that has kept up with this fic so far - you are so wonderful! I'm beyond grateful for each comment and kudos. You all give me the passion to keep this going. Again, I welcome any feedback (constructive, of course) and hope to see you in the comments on the next chapter!  
> Cheers, fam. :)


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